Like Someone Who Would Know Her Own Mind

by Lucretiassister

Summary:

One rainy evening in May, Ross Poldark offers some help to a young stranger in need. Over time she grows to be his invaluable assistant, his trusted companion, and eventually, something much more.

Chapter 1: Wet Bus Stop

Cornwall,  May 2012

Ross Poldark drove the black pickup north in the dimming evening light, trying to ignore the jarring squeak that followed each slap of the wipers on the windscreen.  

He was tired. Tired of the endless spring rain that had turned his fields to mud, tired of the depressing suburban sprawl that was threatening the once-sleepy Cornish countryside of his youth, and tired of the oppressively cheerful tourist trade that was exploding in the villages along the seaside. And he was tired of everyone telling him what a mistake it was for him to have come back to Cornwall at all.

But mostly his body was tired from working hard all day on the derelict farm he’d recently inherited from his father--intense physical labor that had yet to yield any tangible results.

He’d been able to get to an Off-Licence before heading home and the cheap bottle of Grant’s that lay on the passenger seat would be his well-deserved reward.

Except for loading purposes only, he disliked driving the old truck--also inherited from his father. The body was still in good repair but it had recently started overheating, and while Ross suspected it was a head gasket, he had neither the money nor the patience to address this now. He’d driven to Redruth to buy feed for the stock and had been half way home when he remembered anything stashed away in the liquor cabinet had been finished the night before. Of course he could find a shop closer to home but he’d run the risk of running into someone he knew. Besides, it seemed everything was a specialty shop these days and what he required was indeed nothing special. Ross had no one waiting for him so he had turned around and drove back to Fore Street to find the Bargain Booze he’d passed earlier. The name said it all.  

Now he glanced at the clock on the dashboard--20:24. Though it was still early, he hoped by the time he got back, his housekeeper, Prudie, would have slunk off to her room to watch a little telly, probably with her own bottle--though he knew her to prefer gin to whisky. Then he might relax in peace by the fire. If he were going to be miserable, he wanted to feel that way alone, without any witnesses to further remind him of just how low he’d sunk.

Barely in his mid twenties, Ross felt too young to be the sole owner of a farm, yet that was exactly what had happened since his father died. And the farm, Nampara it was called, was failing. The fields as they had been left, produced almost nothing and the buildings, of which there were quite a few, were in serious disrepair. The land itself though was quite valuable, due to its location near the sea. His father, never a wise manager of his own funds, recognised this and over the years had taken out loans and mortgages against the property. Now any earnings from Nampara would immediately have to be funneled into loan repayment. But so far that hadn’t happened, for there had been no profit to speak of for some time, and the crippling debts were mounting.

Ross had not yet given it a year.

He’d only just returned back to Cornwall the previous summer. Until then, he’d been a soldier, most recently based in Cyprus. He and his father had been relieved at such a posting, for it was certainly safer than being deployed into a more violent conflict zone. But in the end Ross had found himself in enough danger, and while sent in to quell a riot outside the base, he and some army comrades had been badly wounded. Vehicles were set on fire, equipment was destroyed, and in the fracas, Ross suffered head and ankle injuries. He spent weeks in hospital recovering before he was discharged from service altogether.

And while he was laid up and facing the end of his brief army career, that last month in Cyprus had been a most heartbreaking time for him in other ways. First he received word from Elizabeth, his girlfriend back in Cornwall, that she was marrying another man--not just any man but his own uncle. His uncle.

Then shortly thereafter, Ross learned his father had died.

Both had been severe blows.

I swore I’d give it a year. A full year, he reminded himself as he drove on.

He’d slowed the Ford Ranger just a bit where the road curved west, when he caught sight of a huddled form at a partially covered bus shelter on the right. He was pressing his boot to the accelerator again when it struck him he may have seen the same body waiting earlier--nearly twenty minutes before when he was driving the other way. The only bus that stopped there was the #47 and Ross was pretty certain it didn't run this late, or if it did, it only came on the hour so another wouldn't be along for quite some time. He glanced in his rear mirror to see if he could still see the would-be rider. The little figure--he couldn’t make out if it was a girl or a boy or a very small adult--turned its body and Ross saw thin pale arms holding a small wriggling mass of black fur.

He also saw the wet, white shirt smeared with blood.  

Perhaps it was the soldier in him, immediately alert and responsive when danger seemed imminent, that caused him to act. After just a quick glance in his mirrors, he swung the truck around and headed back for a better appraisal of the situation.

He pulled over, careful not to splash in the puddle that had formed along the road, and called out to the passenger side window into the rain.

“You okay? You look like you need help,” he said. He saw the figure was indeed a child. The body was thin, but the round face was still so young that it did not yet betray any distinctly feminine or masculine features. A black knit beanie set off wide blue eyes, too big for such a small head; some wisps of reddish blonde hair escaped and clung in curls to the flushed face. The child’s head turned, and Ross then saw the long plait down the back, the only evidence this might be a young girl.

She was wearing what looked like odd pieces from a school PE kit. The shorts seemed very short on her gangly legs while the t-shirt, soiled with dirt and blood and now wet from the rain, seemed a bit too long. She was a most pitiful looking creature.

“This is a bus lane, sir. You’ll block the bus,” she said simply.

“There isn't one coming, I’m afraid. Didn't you read the timetable?”  

She gave one quick eye roll towards the posted time table that first had been scratched over with a sharp object, then written on with a black marker so all that could be read now was ‘Get the fuck out.'

“Your...dog? Is it okay? Where do you live?“

She seemed to resent his authoritative manner and looked directly at him again. Ross read contempt, fear, and anguish burning in her wide eyes. Finally she spoke again.

“Illogan.”

“You’re a bit out of your way. How’d you get here?” He was trying to be less patronising and perhaps even friendly, but was aware that regardless of his words or tone, she was wary of his attentions and looked away from him.

Smart girl, he thought. And why should you trust a perfect stranger?

“I was off lookin’ for Garrick, he’s my puppy, and I got a bit lost,” she began and paused. She courageously looked up from her sodden trainers and into his dark eyes fixed on her. Ross’s concern must have come across as genuine for she suddenly decided to let it all out.

“I thought he’d run away but it turns out those dickhead boys took him and were, well, I don't know what they were plannin’ on doin’, but they hurt him. Cut his tail anyway. Don't know if it’s worse, like on the insides, I mean. What if they kicked him? He’s only a puppy! Why would anyone do that?”

Ross was relieved the blood on her shirt belonged to the dog and not her.

She clutched the wet, whimpering beast tighter to her. While she expressed surprise at such a horrid act, Ross somehow sensed that thus far in her short little life, the girl had seen worse things.  

Just how old was she? He couldn’t tell but based on her scrawny form he guessed around eleven.

“But you are not hurt?” he asked.  

She nodded solemnly. Blood from the dog’s tail wound had got on her hands, and one at a time, she wiped them back on his fur.

“You know there are laws about harming animals. We should ring the police,” Ross said.

“No! Please don’t make any more trouble. Last time I told the police--when our window got broke and I saw who done it--the boys just came back and wrote nasty words on our door. Then my dad hit me for bringin’ that on.”

“Your father hits you?” Ross asked slowly. He wanted to make sure he’d heard this correctly.

“Not always, not since I’ve gotten faster and know how to stay out of his way. He works nights now so I don’t have to see him much.”

There are laws against child abuse and neglect too, Ross thought.  

“And your mother?”

“I don’t have a mum. She died.”

The situation had instantly become more complicated. Ross thought someone should contact social services on the girl’s behalf but he certainly couldn't do it now while she waited. No, that would have to be done at a later time. He considered ordering her a taxi but no driver would allow a muddy, bleeding dog into their cab. And leaving her there was out of the question--it was still raining and was steadily growing darker.

“I’m Ross Poldark by the way. I don’t live too far from here. What’s your name?”

“Demelza Carne,” she muttered. She still wasn’t sure of him.

“Look, you shouldn’t get into my car but I wish you would. I can take you home. I’d like to help you.”

She looked up into the rain and then down the empty road, biting her lip as she thought. She apparently saw she had no other option and without further hesitation, hopped into the truck. He shoved the bag with the bottle under the seat but not before she caught a glimpse of it. The wretched dog was settled on her lap while she struggled to click into her seat belt. Up close now Ross could see just how bony her wrists and exposed knees were.

“When was the last time you ate?” he asked, his hand on the gear shift.

“I was supposed to buy groceries with the money my dad left but it went missin’. Luke--he’s my brother--says he didn't take it but suddenly he has a new nano set. He shouldn't lie and waste our time while we’re still lookin’ for it. I hate lies!”

So there’s nothing to eat at home.

Ross was moved that she had not yet been so hardened by the cruel world that she still found lies offensive. But it wouldn't be long before such innocence was crushed. What might a young girl be driven to do for money, for survival?

He sighed. The bottle and an evening of solitude would have to wait.

“Demelza, I’d like to take you to my house. I don’t live alone--I have a housekeeper named Prudie.”  It would have helped if Ross could describe her as a kind, sweet woman but he knew that would be a lie. “My farm is about seven miles up the road and we can take care of your dog first then you can get something to eat. After that we’ll take you home?”

“Alright,” she said and brought the grimy dog to her lips for a kiss.

“Does he have fleas?” Ross thought to ask.

“No!” she answered, clearly insulted. “Do you?” she quipped back, looking him up and down.

He laughed and realised he was in a rather grimy state himself. He had gone off to pick up the animal feed without much care for his appearance; he hadn't changed out of his work clothes after spending the afternoon resetting the stone wall near the north barn. And everyone else at Colburn Feeds at Redruth looked like a farmer too.

“What’s that smell?” he asked suddenly. “Is that petrol?” He’d finally pulled back out into the road and swung back north again.

“Yeah, they splashed some on Garrick.”  

“Did any get on you?”

“A little on my arm but nowhere else.”

“Are you sure?"

“Yes, it’s just on his back, not me. And I grabbed him away before they got anymore on him.”

Or set him ablaze. Good god, he wanted to find these boys himself and knock some sense into them. If they were harming animals now, what violence would they grow into next?

 ----

“Prudie? Prudie!” Ross bellowed into the dark house. The faint murmur of voices and laughter coming from behind the bedroom door down the hall suggested his housekeeper was watching telly. There really wasn't any reason for her to be living-in anymore, not since she was no longer providing care for Ross’s infirm father. It wasn't as though she and Ross kept each other company or that she served the house or the farm after hours in any way. She’d usually put together some passable supper for him, then shuffled away to her room, pretending he didn't exist.

Ross strode through the corridor, dripping rain and trailing mud on the old stone floor, then banged on her door. He’d waited hardly a moment before he jerked it open.

“Captain Ross?” she said sleepily from her armchair in the corner.

“I need your help. Now. Find me a change of clothes.”

“For you, sir? Are you wet? Why don’t you...”

“Get them myself?” he asked her, unable to hide his frustration that was quickly turning to a barely contained fury.

She thought better of finishing her sentence and got to her feet.

“Something small, for a child…and dry towels.”

“For a what?”

Before Ross could hear anymore of her reply, he turned and rejoined the girl standing under the eaves in an hopeless attempt to stay dry.

“Right,” he said to her. “You’re not going to like this but we need to rinse this petrol off you and your dog before we do anything else. Even residual fumes can be very dangerous, you know.”

She nodded silently and followed him across the grim yard beyond the house to one of the old outbuildings. A deep sink stood on a crumbling concrete pad, barely covered by a cracked, corrugated fiberglass roof. Foul smelling buckets, tools caked with mud, and a deflated tire leaned against the wall by the open door. It was a sorry sight.

“This will be cold but once we’ve given you a rinse you can get warmed inside. Prudie, my housekeeper, will help you.”

“Garrick? Can we do him first?” she asked.

“If you’d like.” Her loyalty to her dog was commendable. He wasn’t sure the last time he’d seen such friendship. Did this make her a generous soul or a foolish one?

Demelza held the dog by the scruff in the sink while Ross rinsed with the hose. The water ran rust-brown from blood and dirt, and the beast--who had already looked pitiful--was even more so once drenched. Still he looked up at the girl with wide eyes and only let out the slightest whimper, somehow trusting her intentions. Once he was washed down, they examined his tail and saw the cut was not too deep.

“I think if we bandage this, he will mend well enough without needing to seek a vet,” Ross reassured her. They rubbed the dog down and wrapped him in a dry rag, which he immediately wriggled out of. He shook his fur and turned in a few circles before lying down to lick at his backside.

“Now you,” Ross said. He felt his arms brace in sympathy for the cold dousing she was about to receive. Best to do this quickly.

“Give me that hat,” he said.

She hesitated but he waited for her to hand the beanie over, then gave it a sniff.

Petrol.

She had been splattered after all. Thankfully none had gotten on her face or eyes.

He ran the hose first over her arms where she’d been holding the dog, then he lathered her up with the strong smelling bar of carbolic soap. He tried to remain steady in his strokes--the same sort of reassuring firmness he would have used while bathing a lamb. She said nothing while he rinsed her off but soon began to shiver violently.

“I’m sorry we have to do this.” He pulled her by the shoulder, and without undoing her plait, gently bent her head over the sink.

“Jesus!” she gasped as the cold water ran over her head. “That’s fuckin’ cold!”

“Almost done,” he said and gave her hair a sniff.

He’d tried not to wet her top but it had already been soaked through by the rain and clung to her skinny form, slick and transparent. She didn't seem to be wearing any vest underneath but it wouldn’t have made a difference; there was nothing to suggest developing flesh on her flat sexless front.

Precisely at that moment Prudie came out with a towel and an armful of odd old clothes. She looked at the situation and threw one hand up in dismay.

“And just what the devil is goin’ on here, Captain?” she began.

“This is Demelza. She needs our help. Take her inside and see she has a hot shower,” he ordered.

Demelza looked worried about leaving her dog and going into the strange house with the woman, but Ross gave her an encouraging nod.

“I’ll see to Garrick, don’t worry,” he added for the girl’s benefit.

---

When Ross reentered the house nearly thirty minutes later, Demelza was seated at the kitchen table humming to herself. She did look cleaner--her plait had been undone and her wet strawberry blond hair had been combed out smooth. She was now wearing a t-shirt that once had been black but had long since faded grey from too many launderings. When she sat up, he saw Speak Dalek to Me was written across the front.

Ross smiled. The shirt had been his when he was a teenager; he had no idea where Prudie had found it.

The shirt went almost to her knees so he couldn’t tell what she was wearing underneath it. He quickly grew embarrassed at having speculated about that and looked away from the girl to the food that sat before her. Soup from a tin and frozen fish fingers that had been microwaved. She seemed content with the meal and ate steadily. The dog, tail newly bandaged, was sitting in her lap at the table.

“Where’s Prudie?” Ross asked. He did not approve of the dog in the house, and certainly not at the table, but figured this wasn't the pressing battle to be fighting at the moment.

“The rest of my things are in the tumble dryer, she’s gettin’ them,” the girl said stuffing another fish finger into her mouth. “Does she always talk to you like that--I mean, talk back to you?”

“Only when she doesn't like what I’ve asked of her. She’s known me since I were a boy so maybe she thinks…”

“Why did she call you captain?”

“I’ve been in the army.” It seemed like a lifetime ago to him. Ross never had made captain before he was discharged--that had been his father’s rank years before--but Prudie couldn’t be bothered to keep that detail straight, no matter how many times she’d been corrected.

“Are you ready then? To go home?” he asked.

“Whenever it’s convenient for you, Captain.”

“You can call me Ross. Won’t your family be missing you?”

“I doubt it, Mister Ross.”

He looked at her again, her head bowed over her soup spoon. Somehow despite all that had happened to her that day she was smiling. Would she still be once she returned home? He had a sudden thought and spoke without fully weighing the idea’s merits.

“Demelza. I’ve been thinking...I need help with the stock and perhaps you'd like the work? You could come after school or on weekends? That is, if your family can spare you and you’ve the time…”

“This is really a farm? And you have animals?” she asked brightly.

“Yes, a few cows, not as many as we used to, some pigs, goats.” He recently sold off the last of the sheep and had no regrets that that chapter in Nampara’s history was closed. No more smelly lambs warming by the stove.

“Any horses?” she asked, almost dancing with joy now.

“Just the one,” he smiled gently at her.  

“Can I see her? I love horses, ‘course I don't get to see them much. Only on school trips really. I did learn to ride though--when I was a girl.”

He struggled to contain a laugh at the thought of this little waif nostalgically referring to her younger days.

“How old are you Demelza?” he asked.

“I’m thirteen,” she said proudly.

He supposed he should have asked that before he rubbed her down and soaked her under the hose. Did it make it better or worse that she was officially a teenager and not a small child? Well, she was still small but was older, and perhaps wiser, than he had given her credit for.

She does seem to know her own mind, he thought.  

“You can see the horse on the way out. Come when you’re ready,” Ross said.

--

They had agreed to let the dog stay on at Nampara for a few days until he was better healed. It had been Demelza’s idea--she suggested that Garrick might be worried about running into those boys again. Ross recognised what she wasn’t able to admit aloud, and although he didn’t like the idea of keeping the scruffy creature around, he felt she was probably right. He found it curious though, that as attached as she was to the dog, she’d be willing to leave him behind with a stranger.

They also agreed Prudie would accompany Ross when he drove Demelza home to Illogan. She wasn’t happy about the upset to her evening routine but Ross was insistent he shouldn’t turn up alone with the girl. He somehow felt it might come across as less questionable to have a middle aged woman there with them, as if she’d present as a proper chaperone. Well, she’d be better than he as a single man in his twenties anyway. Prudie reluctantly let Ross take her car, and for most of the drive, she huffed and sighed loudly to register her protests, before falling asleep across the backseat. At once she began to snore.

Demelza gave a little giggle, then put her hand to her mouth quickly lest she be seen as rude. When she saw that Ross hadn’t gotten angry but instead gave a soft chuckle along with her, she let her hand go and allowed herself one last laugh.

It was dark when they pulled up to the Carnes’ narrow terraced house on Wesley Road. Wedged in between its neighbors, it was smaller than the surrounding houses but just as shabby. Two grimy windows, stacked over a bigger one below, looked out on the street but they added no character to the grim facade. In the poorly lit street light, it was hard to make out the exact color. The top seemed to be a faded salmon color while the bottom a duller grey stucco.

Knowing what might occur to this girl once she entered the place, Ross had an impulse to turn around and drive her straight back to Nampara. It passed in just a moment, and as she stepped out of the car on to the dark pavement, he leaned across to speak to her from the passenger window.

“We’ll see you Saturday, then?” he asked, trying to reassure himself that he was doing the right thing both by leaving her, but also by engaging her to return on the weekend. “Do you need Prudie to come get you? To speak to your father maybe?”

“No, I can manage the bus. Tell Garrick I’ll be back again, won’t you? He might not understand why this is best, you see. Bye Mister Ross, thank you, Prudie,” she said and began to make her way up to the house. As she moved, her spindly legs performed a sort of inelegant dance--half loping, half skipping.

The front door opened and Ross watched as the girl was swallowed by the darkness inside.

 

 

Chapter 2: Don't Let Go

Ross stopped the black pickup before he’d entered the crescent drive, and instead pulled off into the nearby grass. Builders were raking out fine new gravel and had marked the area off with yellow tape. They paused to glare at Ross and when they saw he posed no threat to their progress, continued with their work.

It struck Ross that his uncle had only just installed that drive in the past ten years or so, when the house was newly built. If it had been done right the first time, there was no reason it shouldn’t have lasted. But the house itself was already showing some signs of wear in places and was even beginning to look dated.

“You have to use quality materials, Charles, not this cheap shite,” Ross’s father had told his uncle back when the new house in Trenwith Road was being constructed.  

Over his long career as a land developer, Uncle Charles had made scores of cash that he desperately wanted to show off to the neighbourhood. He had the old Poldark family house pulled down and a new one erected in its place. Tall, with an out of place gable here or there and a bulgy fake-stone facade, the monstrosity had huge glass windows in front and no real architectural style. It reeked of money in an ostentatious way but no longer appeared fresh and new. Now it seemed a throwback to the previous decade’s economic bravado-- and an affront to anyone locally who was struggling.

“You put all your money into the place looking fancy but better it’s well-built,” Ross’s father had chided. “Otherwise won’t be long before someone else comes along and pulls this place down when it no longer suits them.”  

My father has hardly been known for making wise decisions, who is he to offer advice? Ross had thought at the time.

For Joshua Poldark, things were meant to last, to be held on to indefinitely, whether or not they still served their purpose. His own house at Nampara was a monument to that way of thinking. The roof was crumbling in places but the stone walls and ancient flag floors remained in tact. And Joshua had miserly held on to every scrap of metal, rubber, or wood, any engine or piece of farm equipment that once had worked--even the scrawniest of beasts born in his barn was kept on. He never shed a thing in his possession with the hopes that all could be repurposed some day. Don’t let go, was his unspoken philosophy.

Ross had spent the first six months of his ownership of Nampara clearing through Joshua’s old junk, sorting out what had any sliver of value and what was beyond repair. Disposing of it had proven quite an expense in itself and he grew to understand another reason why his father had neglected to do so. Ross still had about two more outbuildings to go through--or maybe he should just pull them down altogether.

Yet considering his own stubborn streak to keep the farm going after Joshua’s death, perhaps Ross was more like his father than he’d like to admit. He still harboured the hope that Nampara could be made right again some day.

Don’t let go.

Today Ross felt a sort of satisfaction that Charles’s first attempt at an elegant drive hadn’t lasted. No doubt he had chosen the most expensive top stone but probably hadn’t dug down far enough or provided the proper sand bed for drainage.

The glossy wooden doors of the three car garage beyond the drive were open but only one car was parked within. It seemed likely Uncle Charles wasn’t at home but the little cream coloured Mini Cooper convertible that belonged to Elizabeth was there. Such an utterly silly car, but she had wanted it and Uncle Charles was happy to indulge.

Even though Ross was expecting her to answer the door, the moment of preparation he had before seeing her face to face again hadn’t really mattered. It still felt like a punch in his gut every time.

“Oh, Ross,” she said. Somehow she managed to seem surprised, flustered, pleased, breathy, demure, and coy all at the same time.

This wavering indecision on her part annoyed Ross, and he moved into a clear feeling of irritation. Oddly, that pleased him--it was at least better than the precarious uncertainty and renewed hurt that had washed over him in the seconds before.

“I’m looking to speak to my uncle. Is he in? I didn't see his car…” Ross began and stepped over the threshold without being asked. Elizabeth looked down at his muddy shoes but didn't say anything, so he stopped on the rug and went no further into the hallway.

“You are correct. He’s away, I’m afraid, overnight to Plymouth,” she said. “But do come in. Would you like some tea or a bottle of beer?”

“A glass of water would be fine,” he said and tried to wipe his feet rather well before deciding to slip out of his boots altogether. He left them by the door and followed her into the spacious living room.

With its cathedral ceilings and massive windows, the room was bright and very airy. Everything in it--the walls, the furniture, the carpet-- was white, with the exception of a coffee table which had a glass top and the rather large-leafed houseplants that towered in the corners. Ross wondered where his late Aunt Verity’s black piano had been moved to.

He settled into a white bentwood armchair but avoided putting his feet on the footrest in front of him. He instantly disliked the awkwardly reclined angle the chair forced on him and tried to sit up at once.

Seeing him seated, Elizabeth left him alone and returned several minutes later with a bottle of mineral water and two glasses.

“Did you need Charles’s help with something?” she asked, as she handed him a glass, then perched herself at the edge of the white leather sofa.

Ross swallowed. He did in fact need help from Charles. Elizabeth had always been perceptive--or perhaps Ross had never been good at hiding anything from her.

Today Elizabeth was wearing a pink knit dress that brought out the natural blush in her cheeks and the rose shade of her lips. The colour, which appeared even more pale in contrast to the white sofa, made her look a bit like a young girl.

That didn't sit well with Ross--it served to remind him of the inappropriate age difference between Elizabeth and her husband, as though she were really just a teenager playing mistress of the house. Ross had always thought of Elizabeth as grown and mature, even when they were both young, when they’d first met. She was almost two full years older than Ross, and when he was a young man of nineteen that had made such a difference.  An alluring, older woman taking an interest in him? Ross couldn’t believe his luck. She had been so serious and the whole relationship had taken on a sort of gravity and significance before they knew it. Yet when Elizabeth had ended it with him, she’d chalked the romance up to just a youthful dalliance of little consequence.

“Did we really not mean those things we said to each other?” he asked her when he managed to get her on the phone after reading the break-up letter she’d sent to him in Cyprus.

“Ross, good god! When we met we were kids...I was merely a girl, barely out of my teens. How could I really know what I wanted? Surely you can’t still hold me to that?” she had scoffed. And in her tone she made it clear she did not expect him to understand. She still considered him a boy--not a mature, established man like his Uncle Charles.

It had been both hurtful and insulting. Because if Ross were just a kid, he was one who had recently suffered bodily harm in the service of Queen and country, who was grieving the unexpected loss of his father, and who was now charged with saving the failing family farm. Those seemed like rather adult burdens to be shouldering. And in his whole life, Ross had never really felt like a boy--not even when he was one. His father had treated him like a peer since his mother died, and as inappropriate as that was most times, it had caused Ross to accept responsibilities and harden in some ways that were well beyond his years.

Ross wasn’t sure Uncle Charles had suffered any growing pains or ever really struggled in his life at all. The eldest son in a fairly prosperous land owning family, he inherited property and wealth, then waltzed into a marriage with a kind woman from an even wealthier family who left everything to him after she died. Charles had made a few wise investments in his youth and then the world simply continued to unfold at his feet. Whereas Charles’s younger brother, Ross’s father, was dogged by misfortune, bad decisions, heart ache, and financial woes until the end. Even the losses of their respective wives had been experienced with marked contrast. Joshua was never the same after Grace died. Their love had been profound, evident to anyone who met them, and her absence forever shattered his world. Charles, on the other hand, was fond of his first wife but seemed to get on easily without her, almost as though her absence made little difference in his life. He had certainly never valued her opinion and whether or not he loved her, who could say?

Now Uncle Charles had one more golden trophy land in his lap--Elizabeth Chenowyth, his young new wife. It was a May-December romance for sure--Elizabeth was even younger than Charles’s daughter Verity, his only child from his first marriage.

Ross never knew the details of how Charles and Elizabeth came to be involved romantically or why she agreed to marry the old man--Ross never had the stomach to hear the tale in its entirety. But he could see Elizabeth lent some style and breathed a freshness into Charles’s boring life. He might ask what Elizabeth saw in Charles but he knew the answer: money and plenty of it.  

When Ross returned to Cornwall, still feeling betrayed, he’d vowed to see little of his uncle. But that soon proved impossible. So many family land and legal matters were tied up together and he found he regularly needed Charles’s counsel. And Charles was willing to offer it--he seemed to feel some remorse at the hand Ross had been dealt and offering up a little guidance now and then was a small price to pay for a soothed conscience. Besides Charles liked being listened to and over the years had to grown to expect that others would naturally heed his sage advice.

And so today it had been for consultation that Ross had sought Charles out again.

“Yes,” Ross said, still unable to fully understand Elizabeth and her inner motives as she sat  across from him in her white palace. “I had hoped to see my uncle for some legal advice.”

“Legal? That sounds rather serious,” she said and peered over the top of her glass. Then she smiled at him--and instantly he felt his guard come down.

Oh yes, that smile. Her gleaming white teeth, her soft full lips, the perfectly formed brow that arched in sync with her open mouth. And her eyes--they gleamed and danced too. It was genuine--wasn’t it?

Impulsively Ross started to share his current predicament with her but was hardly a few sentences in before he regretted his foolish decision.

“So you are wondering if you would be complicit, implicated legally, if you did not report this child abuse you seem certain of? And who is this girl to you? A stranger?” She no longer seemed at all interested in his dilemma.

“Yes,” Ross said but felt that her summation wasn’t quite correct. Yesterday young Demelza Carne was a stranger but by the time they’d returned her home, she had already established a connection with them, with Nampara. It wasn’t easy to put in words.

“I feel like I can’t turn my back on her but reporting her family situation to social services doesn’t seem right,” he tried to explain but couldn’t properly articulate his thoughts. He felt the involvement of social service would be highly disruptive to whatever coping strategies the girl had managed to find. Who was he to undo that? If she were put into care how long would it be before she got back on track? Would she ever?

“But she admitted to you that her father is abusive? And even after hearing that, you had really agreed to employ her? Don’t you need her father’s permission for that if she is so young?” she asked coldly.

Ross felt a slight relief that she hadn’t also pointed out one needed money to employ someone.

“You know in the country it’s common for kids to work odd jobs around farms, informally, always has been that way,” he began.

“You need to avoid getting involved with her family’s situation, Ross. There is nothing you can do and giving her charitable handouts will only prolong her plight without offering genuine remedy.”

It was the way Elizabeth phrased it. How ridiculous it was that he’d even considered helping! Ross was stepping into a complicated situation, for no real reason. And any altruism he might have been feeling was surely misplaced--if he really cared about the girl, he would work through the proper channels.

“You must contact social services at once,” she added and took a long draught from her glass.

“And if I don't, will you?” he asked.

“No. It is not my business and it really isn’t yours either. Think about it, Ross. Do you have the time for this, with all your own...worries?” She looked away, embarrassed, after saying this.  

Yes, Ross had more than “worries.”  He had serious financial burdens that threatened the very roof over his head. He didn’t feel obliged to thank her for the reminder.

“Besides she could also exhibit behaviour problems and create real trouble for you. You have no idea what you might have taken on, Ross.”  

This last statement irked Ross. Elizabeth had taken one course in psychology at university and no doubt felt the case studies she’d read were enough to allow for such a sweeping claim. But Elizabeth had no knowledge of this girl. How could she assume Demelza, who she’d never met, was a menace--or even a danger? What did Elizabeth suspect she’d do--kill his cat? Burn down his house?

“I can’t see that,” Ross said.

“Well, a girl so young, anything is possible,” Elizabeth said with a dismissive confidence.

“So it’s her age that’s the problem?” he asked. “If she were older, it would be different?”

“No, then it would be worse! But you know what I mean. And regardless of what is going on in her mind, people will talk. You could see how it would appear not right.”

“What isn’t right?” Ross challenged her. He felt his face grow flushed and sensed what had started as mere vexation was developing into real anger.

“An older man alone with someone so much younger…” She said in a lowered voice as if she didn't want others to hear, even though they were alone. She looked sidewise at the floor as she spoke--such a scandalous idea couldn’t be faced directly.

“Because you would know?” he quipped. He couldn’t help it. How could she not see the ridiculous hypocrisy that dripped from her words? Elizabeth was more than thirty years younger than her husband. How in the hell was that right?

“That’s not fair!” she cried and Ross heard the hurt in her voice. Still unable to bear seeing Elizabeth in distress, he regretted his words. He had no wish to inflict further harm.

“No, of course not,” he pulled back before any further urge to lash out bubbled up in his gut. “No doubt you are a grown woman and are comfortable with whatever choices you have made--and their consequences. Please tell my uncle, I called,” he said and rose to his feet.

As he headed back towards the hallway, he felt a bit humiliated as his socks slipped on the polished floors. Whether Elizabeth was hurt again by his abruptness, or disappointed in his lack of judgement, he didn’t know. She didn't move to see him out and he didn’t turn back to read her expression.

---

Ross took the tractor straight out to the far fields as soon as he returned to Nampara. He regretted taking any time away from his work for what had proved to be such an unsuccessful venture, and he hated that so many emotions were suddenly churned up in him--anger, hurt, disappointment, discomfort. He had woken that day feeling almost even-keeled, or at least accepting of his lot and ready for hours of intense labour before sunset. Now he was behind.

And he would always be behind.

He hoped the loud rumble of the tractor might distract him from his troubled thoughts and numb his senses. And if not, well, there was still the bottle of Grant’s waiting for him at the end of the day.

Hours later, Ross returned to the yard, surprised to find Prudie looking for him.

“She’s ‘ere,” Prudie said, tapping her foot impatiently. Ross had come to read Prudie’s temperature based on how rapidly the foot moved. Today she was agitated for sure.

At first he thought she meant Elizabeth but then knew that couldn’t be true. He’d have seen her car in the yard.

“Who?” he asked and swung down from the tractor seat, still distracted by his own unsettled thoughts and annoyed at Prudie’s drama.

“The girl!”

“What? Demelza?” he laughed. “Today?”

“She’s in the barn! See fer yerself!” Prudie barked and turned in an unmistakable huff to go back to the house. Ross doubted she was heading for the kitchen--she probably felt she needed an early evening nap before she got to work on any real supper for him.

Ross entered through the half-opened door of the barn and heard someone talking softly to the goats and humming. Then he saw Demelza seated on a bundle of hay in a dark corner. Garrick, the puppy, wriggled in her lap, his bandaged tail wagging uncontrollably.

“Mister Ross!” Demelza said brightly and tried to stand up, but fell back down when Garrick leapt at her with all his might. Thrilled to be reacquainted with his true mistress, the dog was not ready to release her just yet. She laughed again and grabbed him up in her arms.

“We weren't expecting you today, Demelza. Is anything amiss?” Ross said, dreading the answer. Of course he wished the girl no harm but he would also hate it if Elizabeth were right. Maybe he didn’t know what he was wading into.

“No, everythin’s fine, it’s only I thought I might come by and see what needs doin’. You don’t need to pay me for today, I mean, if that’s what yer thinkin’,” she said and clutched Garrick to her just a little more tightly.

Ross suspected that her eagerness to help out that day was largely inspired by her wish to see her dog and had very little to do with Ross’s needs at all.

Her one true friend. Perhaps that’s even more than I have, he thought solemnly, then looked at her again.

“Demelza, what are you wearing?”

He saw she had on a man’s shirt, one that once was a checked flannel but now was faded and worn thin. The sleeves were rolled up and the front draped down to her knees, almost entirely covering the blue skirt she wore underneath. Ross recognised it as one of his own work shirts.

“Oh, I’m sorry, Mister Ross. It was hangin’ on the peg there and I thought I might put it on to cover my school uniform until I sort out some proper work clothes. I didn’t mean any harm, I can take it off, I’m sorry,” she stammered.

“No, keep it. It’s rather resourceful of you and yes, we should find you clothes you don't mind getting both dirty and smelly. And footwear too,” he added looking at her trainers which he suspected would soon be covered in muck if they weren't already.  

As if she read his mind, she laughed.

“Don't worry about these--they belong to my brother but he won’t even miss them.”

“Have you any boots?”

She shook her head.  

“I’ll speak to Prudie and see what we can find. No doubt we’ve some spares somewhere. Listen, I have some more work to do, then I’ll take you home,” Ross said.

“I told you can manage the bus,” she said proudly. “I made it here, didn't I?”

“But you’ll stay for your tea again and then it will get dark. So no, one of us will take you back. Unless you need to be home earlier?”

“Oh no, I’ll stay!” Demelza smiled brightly at the thought of another meal in the Nampara kitchen. She kissed the puppy in her arms then turned to the creatures she’d been tending in the barn.

Ross found himself surprised to be smiling back too. He’d made this strange girl happy--more than once now. It was, quite possibly, the most important thing he’d accomplished in some time.

Chapter 3: Sweet Dreams

For Demelza Carne, the time she spent at Nampara Farm was life changing. She was busier than she’d ever been before--getting to the farm after school, working well into the evening, returning home to do her school work, rising early to get to school, and then doing it all again the next day. But never before in her short little life had she felt so alive--and so free.

The terms of her employment had quietly expanded. Originally it was only to be weekends, but straight away she insisted on coming a few days during the week too. Then a few days became almost every day. And to her great surprise, no one objected.

Demelza loved the farm, even in its disrepair and decay. She got such joy being close to the animals, even to muck out the stables and sheds was almost pleasurable to her--almost. The stock were largely ignored but for her attention and quickly came to recognise her, to see her as their great benefactress. Each afternoon she was met by a chorus of welcoming brays, moos, and grunts while warm noses, and butting heads--some gentle and some more insistent--sought out her friendly and reassuring hands.

Yet it was the solitude and the quiet Demelza found at Nampara that she loved most. Of course there was the song of birds, and the roar of tractor motors, and the ever-vocal animals. But once she was in the barnyard, the hustle of the main road wasn't audible and even the wind seemed softer to her.

She was amazed at how her mind would wander and she'd find that after hours in the paddock chasing down the goats, she’d have gone so far in her imagination and have thought about so many different things. Things from school, things she’d read, things she’d overheard on the bus, things she remembered from long ago. Things in her life but also things beyond her own experience--things she’d dreamed or wondered about. There was nothing to interrupt her thoughts. No curses nor yells nor demands. No loud telly nor video games nor blaring music. No brutish brothers breaking up the place and fighting each other. And no father spewing cruel invectives at her.

Now in school when they taught “the mind is wider than the sky,” she felt she might just understand what that meant. Maybe hers too could be that vast, that important.

Maybe.

There was so much to explore at Nampara and everyday Demelza found something new and wondrous. Ross Poldark’s nearly silent house was one thing that fascinated her. One day, as she clomped through the empty hallway in her Prudie’s old boots, she realised she wasn’t sure if she’d actually ever heard her own footsteps before.  

She found that hush somehow cheering. It wasn't that those in the Poldark household were really any happier or more contented than her own family, just that their approach to dissatisfaction was to say nothing at all. Ross Poldark didn’t outwardly rage against the despair of life; it was more like he’d found a civil accord with it. In all, it seemed a healthier approach to her.

But the house wasn't entirely silent for Demelza spent time each day visiting Prudie in the kitchen and chatted endlessly, not with her, but maybe at her. At first Prudie wasn't really listening as much as just not bothering to cut the girl off.  

And then after just a few weeks, Prudie began to show signs that she not only tolerated Demelza but maybe even enjoyed her visits. It was so uncharacteristic of the grumpy housekeeper that no one expected it.

It had started small. First, when she went to the shops, Prudie had started to pick out little things specifically for Demelza. Maybe a special bun or a cake the girl might like for her tea. Then one night, Prudie drove Demelza home, and instead of huffing with resentment, she wound down the windows in her old Mondeo to let the warm spring air blow in her hair, and turned the radio up to sing along. Demelza didn’t quite know all the lyrics to Sweet Dreams, but she tried her best to join in at Prudie’s invitation. Later, unprovoked and on more than one occasion, Prudie cleaned and pressed Demelza’s school uniform once the girl had changed into her work clothes and went off to the stables.

More surprising than her growing fondness for Demelza, was Prudie’s sudden affection for Garrick, which she made no attempts to hide. In all her years there, Prudie had never taken an interest in any animal at Nampara yet now she treated this odd young dog like a pampered poodle. She fed him kitchen scraps and then cooed over his rapid growth from loping puppyhood to a larger, more awkward frame. It was never spoken outright but they all understood Garrick lived at Nampara full time now and would never return to the Carne household in Illogan.

Of course Garrick took to his new surroundings with delight. He’d wake early and chase rabbits under gorse bushes, then wander for hours taking in all the smells other wild creatures had left for him to decipher. He remained busy all day but really came alive in the afternoons when Demelza arrived. He’d tag alongside her as she worked, content for the occasional cuddle or ear scratching she’d pause to offer. He was good with the stock, herding the baby goats but granting a respectful berth to the stronger adults. He never menaced the chickens and managed to stay out of the worst filth in the pigs’ stalls. He seemed content just to be by Demelza’s side. Then when they went in for some supper, he knew he’d get what he’d been waiting for all day. Together Prudie and Demelza would fuss over him while he lay on the kitchen rug, basking in the attention they abundantly gave.

It really hadn’t taken long before Demelza and her dog brought a notable change to Nampara. If anyone had ever taken the time to read childhood novels to Demelza, she’d have been familiar with the classic storyline of the earnest little girl who unwittingly brightened the gloomy household with her smile and warmth. She was merely taking her place with such characters as Anne Shirley, Pollyanna, and Mary Lennox, as she worked her healing charms on the grumpy and broken Nampara residents.

Even Ross seemed moved by her presence. Demelza didn't see Ross much but when she did, she could tell he mostly found her amusing and was not terribly annoyed by her boundless energy. She saw he was pleased that Prudie enjoyed her company and she knew he was more than satisfied with her work. When she first started coming, he left her hand written notes of what she was to accomplish each afternoon and sometimes gave lengthy instructions for special tasks. But it didn't take long before Ross abandoned that practice because she knew exactly what needed doing and did it without prompting.

That was really all she knew for sure about her mysterious and at times sullen employer. She had come to see he had a temper at times but he never raised his voice at her, or even to her dog. She found that intriguing and felt instinctively that she could trust him. More than anything she was grateful to him for giving her such a strange and wonderful opportunity. She now had a favourite place in the world and it was Nampara farm.

And at night when she lay in her own bed back in Illogan, she felt less troubled by the unwashed bed linens and the dingy walls that surrounded her.

She’d close her eyes and imagine the sweet smell of hay--or even the rich earthy smells of the animals--in the quiet of the west barn. And as she drifted off to sleep, her mind wandered in half-dreams towards some future day when she might have what she truly wanted above all else. She imagined what it would be like to feel the love she knew she had to give, returned back to her. To clutch the dark body to hers for comfort in the night, and to wake up with him in her arms. She wasn’t sure how she could ever make it happen but felt that to be alive was to have hope. It filled her heart and emboldened her to dream.

Yes, maybe one day she and her beloved Garrick would be permanently reunited, and she’d be able to live with him again.

Chapter 4: New Ventures

“Cornish hops? That’s a losing crop, boy! Everyone knows that. They use up the best manure, the soil here will produce a meagre yield, and with this wet climate, they’re prone to mildew…”

“No uncle, I believe we can do it differently--new variations better suited to our climate--and on a different scale,” Ross continued.

Ross had come to meet his uncle again, this time for another sort of consultation. He had long given up the idea that he needed advice on what to do with Demelza. His conversation with Elizabeth had disturbed him enough and he had no desire to replay it with someone else, namely his uncle. And in the weeks since Demelza had come back to Nampara on her own, she had proven to be more of a help than Ross could have originally imagined.

He resolved to watch the situation carefully and if Demelza mentioned anything else about her father to suggest the abuse was ongoing, then he’d consider further action. And the neglect? Well, that was another matter altogether and did still trouble Ross. He found it odd that Mr. Carne himself had not been heard from; Ross expected he might come round or ring to ask after his missing daughter. Apparently she hadn’t been missed.

So Demelza might have settled into a routine working at Nampara, but her circumstances, long term, had not yet been resolved.

Yet what was occupying Ross’s full attention now, and what had brought him to seek his uncle out, was not his young farm hand, but a new farming venture. Over the past months Ross had done his research and made casual contacts that had grown into professional allies. And instead of becoming dissuaded, Ross grew more and more committed as the plan seemed to take on a life of its own. If he was to make a move, the time was now.

“There are more breweries in Cornwall per head than anywhere in the UK,” Ross explained confidently. He knew this idea would seem speculative to his uncle.

Charles mostly drank fine single malts and only occasionally had a pint with a friend. And when he did, it was the same traditional ale at the same pub he’d visited for decades. He would hardly have noticed the growing market for craft beers. Ross hoped he could explain the business end to him that made the farming side seem less like a risk.

“I’ve been working to line up the new local breweries--and there are at least three within striking distance. We’d sell directly to them. They save on shipping costs since we’re so close. Fresh hops don't travel distances well, but fresh is precisely what these new start-ups want. So if the hops aren’t shipped from as far, we solve a problem for them. It means, Uncle, better beer.”

“Ah yes, well, well,” Uncle Charles said in response, non committal. Sounds like something Joshua would have suggested, he might as well as have said. But then again he didn't say it was daft. He offered at least a silent acceptance. Maybe--just maybe--he was weighing the merits of Ross’s plans.

----

“Have you been here to see your uncle?” Elizabeth called, as Ross moved across the drive towards his parked truck. She had pulled into the garage while he was inside and now walked towards him questioningly.  

She always did have an inquiring mind, he thought.

“Yes, to share with him the details of my new business venture.”

“And he was...agreeable?” she responded stiffly. Ross noted how formal, how forced her words were, and he grew instantly rankled.

“I wasn’t asking for a loan, if that’s what you are wondering. My father never stooped to begging from his brother so I certainly am not about to start.”

“I didn't mean…” she said.

“But you should know,” he laughed, “that time and again he had offered me ample money to leave Cornwall and set up somewhere--anywhere else. It seems he finds my presence an irritant to his otherwise idyllic new life.”

“Ross, despite whatever feelings you have against Charles,” she began.

Ross hated the way she said Charles, so rich and dripping with feeling.  

“I wish there was a way we could...we could find a way to be friends...” she continued.

Good god, what did she know about friendship? And how could she place such a demand on him today? Did she not understand the edge of a knife upon which he now stood? How Ross’s failure would not only mean ruin for him but also to the memory of his father? Ross may not have agreed with many decisions his father had made but he owed him some sort of family loyalty nonetheless. They were bound together, even after Joshua’s death, whether Ross liked it or not.

Elizabeth had no such ties. Not even now, Ross suspected, when she was legally attached to Charles.

Did she ever think of anyone but herself? And yet she is so frightened of being on her own...

“Friends? Not likely. What I require in friendship, Elizabeth, is trust and loyalty and those are qualities you seem to be missing.”  

His knew his words stung because her face froze then she looked away as though she might cry.  

Ross wasn’t sure he’d be able to maintain his own facade if he saw her break down. She knew this about him and had used tears on him many times in the past when she wanted to manipulate his feelings.

“But seeing as how we cannot change that we are neighbours and relations, we can at least agree to civil,” he nodded without making eye contact. “If you’ll excuse me, I’m sure there is some urgent task back at Nampara that requires my attention. There always is.”

This was the second time in recent weeks that he’d turned his back on her. He sensed a pattern was emerging.

-----

“Mister Ross? Prudie said you sold Selena?”

Demelza was asking about one of the pigs she’d been caring for the past few weeks. Ross had allowed her to name them as well as the new goats that had been born before she came to Nampara. She had names for the cows too but those seemed to change according to her moods.

“Yes, Trembath picked her up this morning and gave us a good price. I’m sorry, I should have told you sooner. I know you were fond of that one. But we still have Justin and Taylor.”

“Couldn't you have kept Selena and sold Taylor?”

“Demelza, you know she’s not nearly the quality that Selena is.”

Was.

By now she’d probably met her end and was hanging on a hook in Trembath’s cold storage room. Tomorrow she’d be someone’s Sunday dinner.

“We have to bring in every penny we can and unfortunately we cannot afford to be sentimental. I thought you knew this,” he said with only a glance up.

Without saying another word, she turned and left the room but not before Ross caught the crushed expression on her face.

Later that same afternoon Ross sat in his study trying his best to craft a convincing proposal to sway more would-be investors in support of his hop farming venture. He felt confident in his ability to argue a point in person--he knew he had a certain charisma that worked to his advantage. But he felt less sure about getting things down in writing.

From the other side of the house he heard the kitchen door swing open violently, followed by the inelegant clomping of ill-fitting boots on flagstone in the hallway. He looked up to see Demelza standing with a small metal pail resting on her hip as she leaned in the doorway of the library. She came no closer and waited for him to speak first.

“Yes?” he said.

“I’ve been thinkin’...” she started.

“Well, what is it?” He didn't mean to sound short but wasn’t sure why she was hesitating. She usually had no qualms about sharing her mind with him. And whatever it was had weighed on her mind heavily enough that she hadn’t even bothered to put down her slop pail before she came marching in.

“Well… next time you’re ready to sell, include me. I mean you can count on me to help with the preparations. You don’t have to hide it from me.”

“Yes, well, glad to hear that, Demelza. I’ll bear that in mind in future.”

“I mean...I’m not a child, Mister Ross. I know the stock aren’t pets and I understand the circle of life. How they leave us. And...how they get here!” With that Demelza turned and stomped off back to the barnyard.

 

Chapter 5: Ibiza and Beyond

In the ten months since she’d first come to Nampara, Demelza grew at least three inches, and while she hadn't really added any substantial muscle mass or body fat to her frame, she no longer looked quite so frail. Now she had that awkward look of a young horse who hadn’t developed its strength yet nor fully grown into its height. And like a yearling, her seemingly boundless spirit could not be contained.

The girl was starting to branch out, just a toe at a time maybe, to explore beyond her narrow world. She changed her hair from time to time--nothing dramatic only a little thing here or there to show she’d started to take notice of her own appearance. Some days she’d practice speaking Spanish to the animals, and even started commenting on the news if Prudie had it on in the kitchen.

“Oh, that’s no good,” Demelza said casually one evening when Sophie Raworth announced the nation’s credit rating had been downgraded.

“Why’s it matter to you, then?” Prudie teased. “You suddenly our MP?”

“Prudie, it matters to all of us. A credit downgrade can make it more expensive for a government to borrow money,” Demelza replied casually, then burst into laughter. “I’m only playin’ with you-- I just learnt that in school today!”

It was a reminder to Prudie that the girl was a sponge and there was little she saw or heard that was ever disregarded.

There was another change in Demelza that Ross hadn't noticed, but Prudie saw straightaway. Demelza had started to talk more of her mates at school, and when she did, it was breezy and light, about a laugh they’d had or the torture they experienced at the hands of a boring maths teacher. Demelza sometimes texted these other girls on the car ride home and they rang her from time to time as well.

“Dee!” they could be heard shouting from the phone. “You will never believe what just happened...”

The housekeeper interpreted this as a good sign--it was normal teenage behaviour to have friends. Prudie never put a voice to her concern but it just hadn’t seemed right for a young girl to spend all her time with a middle aged woman and a flock of goats.

Of course the girl also had a connection to Ross, which was harder to define. Well, he was hard to define too. He was perpetually cross and still seemed to go days without talking to anyone at all. Financial burdens and heartaches had aged him significantly over the past two years, so he’d easily be mistaken for a man in his middle years. Yet he and Demelza had assumed an odd but mutually agreed upon relationship. He rarely spoke of the terms of her employment but they all assumed she was going nowhere anytime soon. Ross watched over the girl from a distance as her unofficial guardian and benefactor and she stayed out of his way for the most part. And when she couldn’t bridle her opinions or enthusiasm, he managed to find an uncharacteristic patience for her. It was clear the two had a regard for each other and an understanding, not unlike two orphaned animals of different species, a kitten and a crow maybe, that come to coexist in the wild, traveling together and forming their own sort of pack to survive.

So when the girl suddenly started chatting less about whether she’d spotted a lesion on one of the pigs and more about Aislin’s new braces or Gemma’s bra size, Prudie saw this as a good thing.

It meant that in all respects, Demelza was thriving.

And her biggest adventure was yet to come, for that April Demelza was going to Spain with school--her first trip abroad ever.

Demelza was so proud of herself for having managed it on her own, after saving most of the year. She squirreled away her wages from Ross and she’d gotten some money--not much, just twenty quid--from an uncle at Christmas that she hadn’t had to give over to her family’s expenses. In addition to her work at Nampara, she minded some neighbour children back in Illogan every now and then. She found she preferred barnyard beasts to toddlers but it was yet another excuse to stay away from home when she couldn’t be at the farm. The money wasn’t much and came in dribs and drabs, but she was determined and thrifty and planned far enough ahead, that the dream soon became an attainable reality.

As the trip loomed closer, her eyes got brighter and she could talk of nothing else. But this new experience for the girl, beyond watchful Nampara eyes, had Prudie nervous.   

“Wear yer sunblock at all times so you don’t come back lookin’ like a boiled lobster. Yer too fair to be layin’ out for a suntan, girl,” Prudie lectured her while they worked side by side in the kitchen. Demelza was peeling potatoes for one of Prudie’s nondescript suppers while Prudie took a cleaver to a tough cut of meat.

“Of course,” Demelza replied.

“And if you go to the disco…” Prudie whacked the meat with impressive ferocity.

“I’m fourteen years old and won’t be goin’ to any ‘discos’!” Demelza laughed.

“Or clubs or whatever!” Prudie continued. “Don’t show off too much skin and stay in threes. If you go in pairs, it will be too easy for them to separate you…”

“Who’s goin’ to separate me from who?” Demelza asked.

“Any Spanish bloke who’s made you his mark. And watch yer drinks--don't leave ‘em unattended.”

“Prudie, we have a curfew. We’ll have chaperones,” the girl laughed.

“Don’t go swimmin’ if you’ve had a few.”

“Prudie! I won’t be drinkin.’ Mister Ross, tell her!” Demelza looked up for assistance as Ross entered the room.

“What’s this?” he asked.

“I was a teenager once, Captain Ross, and you were too. We know how it is,” Prudie tried to explain. “Just tryin’ to prepare her for the ways of the world. There are plenty of men who’d take advantage of a girl. Can’t have you endin’ up sold to a sex ring!” She waved the cleaver in the air to emphasise the danger that loomed abroad.

“Sex ring?” Ross asked with a raised brow.

“I’m not a little girl,” Demelza muttered.

“I know! That’s the point! But yer a young one--and naive. And if yer off in that bikini, who knows what could happen…” Prudie was not to be dissuaded in her fretting.

“Are you still goin’ on about that?” Demelza asked with the slightest snicker.

Even though she still did not have much to fill it out with, Demelza had bought a bikini, largely because the other girls were bringing them as well. Prudie had not approved of it and did not hold her tongue on the matter.

“What would yer father say if I showed it to him?” Prudie threatened.

“You wouldn't dare,” Demelza said, her eyes narrowed. But she knew Prudie would never make trouble with Tom Carne and that it was merely a threat to get her point across.  

In fact Prudie had taken on an interesting role with Demelza's father. It was often Prudie who drove her home when she worked late, and on those nights Prudie would walk up to the door, and even through the threshold, of #22 Wesley Road. If Tom Carne were there she’d stare him down, give a nod, and let him know she’d delivered Demelza in one piece. The unspoken clause was that Demelza had better be returned to them at Nampara the next day, also in one piece, without any harm done to her.

Tom Carne seemed to accept these warnings and would give a grunt before he’d wander off into the kitchen to ignore the rest of his family then leave for his night shift.

“Mister Ross, please tell her not to be so overprotective,” Demelza pleaded.

Ross chuckled. That Prudie even cared was a sign that she’d continued to grow in her acceptance of Demelza.

“Well Prudie, Demelza has always shown good judgement and knows her own mind. But Demelza, you would be wise to heed Prudie’s warnings. You can be a cautious traveler but still have fun,” he offered, then was struck--as they all were--by how old his words made him sound.

“That’s your best advice?” Demelza asked. “Really?” She sighed and went back to her potatoes, clearly disappointed that he hadn’t been more sympathetic to her plight.

---

It was less than a week later that Demelza sat down at the kitchen table, biting her lip, brows knit. She didn't say anything at first but when Prudie turned from the sink and saw her expression, she knew to push the girl.

“Such a long face? What’s that all about, then?”

“I’m not goin’ to Spain,” she said simply. No emotion, just factually stated.

“Wha…?” Prudie threw her hands up.

“I have a final payment for the trip due on Friday and it seems...I can't believe I’d be so stupid...I lost fifty quid.”

“You lost what?” Prudie was incredulous and rightfully so. Demelza was a responsible girl, she would never lose track of a penny of her earnings. This wasn't right.

Prudie switched on the kettle, then plopped herself in a chair opposite the girl at the table.

“Walk me through it, girl. Where’d you see it last?”

“I keep all my money hidden in my drawer in my room at home.”

“Which one? Which drawer?”

“The one with my knickers. I figured no one would mess about in there since it’s...private.” Prudie nodded her approval to this and Demelza blushed a bit. In fact, she had gone a step further and had hidden her money in a packet of tampons among her underthings, but she didn't quite feel right mentioning this to Prudie now.

“So you don't think anyone nicked it. In yer family, I mean?”

“No, my room locks. My brothers don’t have the key.”

“But yer father does?”

“Yes but he wouldn't know I have money in there. I must have really misplaced it. Anyway, it’s too late now. I can't find fifty pounds by Friday.”

Later, after she’d driven the devastated girl home, Prudie took Ross aside and told him the whole story.

“That’s a right load of bollocks, that is! The girl didn't lose her money--that evil Tom Carne took it, I know he did, the thievin’ bastard!”

“But does Demelza know for sure? Do you think she’d confront him?” Ross asked.

“Never. She can’t even admit it to herself. She’d never get it back, even if he did take it. And now her heart’s all broke. She deserved to have a bit of fun and a holiday just like any other girl her age!” Now Prudie looked as though she was on the verge of tears.

Ross patted her arm absently and sighed. In truth he was surprised it hadn’t happened sooner. He knew they should have warned Demelza to be cautious with her money around her father yet to call her attention to it might just add to her sadness.

But the next evening while Demelza was gathering her belongings in preparation to leave, she burst out with a bright laugh that rang through the house.

“I don't believe it. Look!” She was holding a twenty pound note. “It was at the bottom of my rucksack! How on earth did I misplace it? Maybe the other thirty is in here somewhere,” she said, turning the contents of her bag out on the table and rifling through its pockets.

Ross took one quick glance at Prudie, who was desperately struggling to keep her expression stoney, and guessed exactly how that twenty got in there.  

He’d already considered loaning the money to Demelza but at least now there would be less she’d have to repay. He wasn't sure how he felt about it. He didn't want Tom Carne to get away with his thievery but he also didn't want to deny the girl her first experience abroad.

“Demelza, I was thinking I might lend you the remaining money. You can pay it back whenever you are able,” he said, pulling out the bills then closing his wallet quickly. He didn't want her to see it was the last cash he had on him.

“Oh Mister Ross! That’s so kind of you!” she gasped and then threw her arms around his neck in a quick, awkward hug.  

“Oh Prudie! I can't believe it! It’s really happenin’....España, here I come!”

She danced with glee then bounced off to ring her mates.

Chapter 6: Connections

“Mister Ross! Mister Ross!” Demelza shouted. “Mis-ter Ross!” She waved her hands in the air so he could see she was there in the path of the roaring tractor, even if he hadn’t heard her call him.  

Seeing her animation, Ross thought it might be urgent and cut the engine. The girl didn’t usually come running out to the hay fields to find him simply to pass on a message. He hoped it wasn’t anything disturbing--he really couldn’t bear any bad news.

“Well? What is it?” he barked curtly, then saw the flicker of hurt in her eyes at his impatience. She must have thought she was doing him a favour and instead he’d dismissed her courteous attention as bothersome.

“Just, there’s a lady here to see you,” Demelza said flatly. Her previously animated features went instantly blank. It wasn’t in her nature to let others know when they had wounded her. “She said she was yer cousin.” She turned and walked on ahead of him further afield.

Where she was destined, Ross didn't know. It was unlike her to abandon her tasks mid afternoon so he was curious for a moment, then decided to let her be. He really needed to get back to the house to greet his cousin Verity.

Verity was Uncle Charles’s daughter and one of Ross’s only other living relations. They had been close in their youth but he hadn't seen much of her since he went into the army and she’d moved to Truro.

Ross had always hated how Uncle Charles treated Verity--dismissive, never supportive, at times insultingly harsh. And yet she had been nothing but a doting and attentive daughter to the man. Uncle Charles had always been selfish and appallingly unable to take care of himself. Now that Ross reflected on it, it was shortly after Verity moved to Truro, that Charles had taken up with Elizabeth. Perhaps he just needed someone else to attend to his needs, serve his meals, and feed his ego.  

“Verity! I wasn't expecting you but I’m not unhappy,” Ross called as he swung down from the tractor once he’d returned to the dusty Nampara yard. “What brings you around?” He was pleased she had waited for him.

“Oh Ross, you do! You’ve sequestered yourself up on this farm, no one has seen hide nor hair of you for months. I hope I haven’t taken you away from anything crucial but I thought I might persuade you to at least go for a walk with me,” Verity said. She was cheerful, sweet, but also appeared to have something on her mind.

They meandered silently through the meadows west of the house and around the valley until they came to the cliffs that overlooked the sea.

Today the water was calm and shimmering bright in the early July sunshine--a marked contrast with Ross’s mood. But he shook off his own feelings of discontent to better read Verity. He suspected there was something she had wanted to tell him or maybe to ask him, but he wasn’t going to press.

“I trust you’ve heard Elizabeth is pregnant?” she finally spoke.

“Yes, she told me herself.” That had been a conversation he did not relish recalling.  

It started out as all of his other visits had. While Ross was waiting for his uncle, Elizabeth had tried to engage him in breezy banter, not understanding why he showed little interest in anything she said.

“Has the spring rain been damaging to your hop seeds?” she’d asked, placing a bottle of sparkling water in front of him.

“Rhizomes,” he’d muttered. “No.”

“That’s good. Charles has been most fretful that they’d mould, you see. Lime?”

“No, thank you. I’m sorry...he talks with you about my impending business failures?” Ross blurted.

“Who said anything about failures? He wishes you well, Ross. We all do.”

It was such a condescending tone, he looked away in disgust and hadn’t noticed she’d rubbed her hand gently against her stomach as she spoke.

“And you may not want to believe me but your uncle and I, we understand each other. He listens to my ideas…” she continued.

“So is the persistent pressure he offers me to leave Cornwall your idea?” Ross had finally gathered the courage to look up at her face. Her eyes glistened with what seemed to be tears, but he felt prepared for that.

“And are you leaving?” she asked softly. “We’d be rather troubled by that.”

Again her use of ‘we’ agitated him.

When she realised she hadn’t garnered the response she’d hoped for, she assumed an icier tack.

“Because, you see,” she said picking her glass up with a slight flourish of her elegant hand, “our family is about to expand.”

That conversation had been months ago and he’d managed to stay away since. The early stages of hops cultivation had been all consuming so he didn’t need to manufacture an excuse.

“Are you okay with that? With the news, I mean,” Verity asked.

“Sometimes I am. And what choice do I have but to accept it? Frankly, I’m a bit surprised it didn't happen sooner.”

Ross hadn't yet seen Elizabeth in a more noticeable stage of pregnancy so it was easy at times to forget. But she was due in four months and then he’d have another cousin. He’d be expected to visit and no doubt attend a christening or some such event. At these thoughts, he twisted his face in a grimace without realising it.

“Oh Ross. It grieves me to see you so...so glum. Please tell me, do you have any fun? Do you ever just go out with mates?”

“Who has time?” he said gruffly. His gaze wandered back up towards the house and the hopyard that lay beyond.

“Ross you sound like you’re sixty!” Verity laughed then tried a more tender approach and took his hand in hers. “You have to make time, you know.”

At that Ross gave a weak smile and tried unsuccessfully to laugh with her--it was instead a breathy sigh.

“I miss my father,” he said suddenly. He hadn't really put that emotion into words until that moment, but it was true.

“Do you?”

“Well, even though we didn't get on well, at least he was...mine. We belonged together. As mismatched and abrasive as we were...we’re from the same place, part of the same ‘team,’ even if it was a losing one. I don’t feel connected anymore, like I don't have anyone on my side in the same way.”

No one to listen to my ideas, he thought.

“I’m sorry I can't be there for you, Ross,” Verity said softly, “It hurts me to hear of your pain.”

“No, Verity. I didn’t mean to imply you weren’t enough. You’re all I have, in fact, in the way of family.”

“Besides Aunt Agatha,” she reminded him.

“Yes, Aunt Agatha,” he laughed. His great Aunt Agatha was a formidable woman in her mid nineties and possibly the gloomiest Poldark of all.

“Ross, I know my father isn’t your favourite person but he does have regard for you. Even if he expresses it in his own way.”

By stealing my girlfriend.

“I suppose there are those who depend on me here. I should be grateful for them.”

“Jim Carter? I hear you’ve hired him as your newest farmhand.”

Jim Carter was a local lad of about sixteen that Ross had taken on for the summer. Lanky and easily distracted, Jim was less than ideal as labourer. He wasn’t strong at all and his chronic asthma meant he had to take frequent breaks when working in the fields. Ross had found it curious that when they’d been racing to hang the trellis strings in the hopyard, Demelza had caught on quickly and laid twice as much as Jim did in just one morning’s time. But despite his shortcomings, the boy was earnest, and Ross knew Jim’s summer wages--though meagre--meant a lot to his family. He suspected he’d keep him on in the autumn as well.

“As gruff and cold as my father was, he always showed a particular concern for the welfare of the Carter family, especially after Jim’s father died. Maybe looking out for Jim is something I’ve inherited from him,” Ross laughed. It was hardly a laughing matter--Ross could scarce afford anyone’s wages yet seemed to be constantly collecting new employees.

And he’d often wondered if his father’s concern for Mrs. Carter, Jim’s mother, went beyond the neighbourly and charitable. Usually Ross tried not to think about his father’s salacious affairs, which for the most part had been carried out in secret but had been the fodder for local gossip nonetheless. Joshua Poldark had a knack for choosing lovers who some would deem improper; usually they were too young--or too married. Mrs. Carter had been both.

“Jim does what he can. I’ll need to take on more experienced field help if I’m going to expand the operation at all.”

“Expand?” Verity asked. “Buy more land?”

“No, just devote more to the hops venture. It seems to be a worthy risk and so far we’ve had luck on our side.”

That April, Ross had taken a nerve wracking gamble to prune back the first flush just when it appeared so promising. But he was right to follow what his gut--and his research--had told him and the second growth was even lusher than he could have dreamed. Then, when they trained the hops around the trellis strings, they’d managed to get the timing just right on that too. Since then, the summer had been warm, and the bines had grown to an impressive height. So now it was just a matter of closely watching them move into the flowering stage before harvesting--the final phase of experimentation and anxiety.

“I hope it’s not too soon to say we did alright for a first go, but to make any money in future we need to cultivate more. And for a larger yield I'll need different equipment and help. Hops need frameworks to grow up you see, and harvesting will be more complex than barley or any of the other grains we've grown here in the past. We’ll need to update our irrigation as well. I should have known that any glimmer of success in this business would mean more expense.”

“But you can keep up the rest of this place on your own?”

“There’s Prudie and Demelza.”

“Your little helper girl? I saw her with the goats. She’s adorable,” Verity smiled.

“Well, she’s funny and can be quite entertaining at times. I’m not sure you’d call her adorable if you heard her tongue. This is her second summer here, and she’s really good with animals, otherwise I might have just gotten rid of them all. Now we sell the goat milk to Barnett for their cheese and Trembath likes our meats. You know Demelza sensed when something was off with Ermi before there were any outward signs. It turns out the cow had grass tetany but we caught it early and she’s fully recovered,” Ross explained, a note of pride in his voice.

“Are you telling me she’s a cow whisperer?” Verity teased.

“No, she’s observant. And a good kid and I’m happy to be able to help her.”

I’ll need to check in with later, he thought. Make sure she knows I appreciate that she came out to fetch me. She must have run the entire distance.

“Any other signs of trouble in her home?” Verity asked. Despite his resolve to manage Demelza’s home situation himself, he had long ago confided in Verity about Demelza’s abusive father. And he’d been glad he had, for Verity agreed that his decision to do nothing until further warranted was the best course of action. Later he wondered if he had simply shopped around until he’d found an agreeable opinion. But Ross also knew Verity was good at keeping secrets. He must remind himself to reach out to her and confide more of his burdens in her. Yet sometimes she seemed to be troubled with her own.

“None that are evident enough to trouble my conscience. If that’s what you mean.”

“And the dog lives here permanently?” Verity giggled at the idea.

“Well, yes, that wasn't supposed to be the plan but it does make some sense. A dog can be useful on a farm. But tell me, how are you, Verity? Business at the cafe doing well?”

Verity owned a cafe on River Street in Truro. From Ross’s outsider perspective it seemed to be thriving. The place got good reviews and was always crowded whenever he tried to stop by for a bite. But he also knew that a business could appear rosy on the outside while its owner struggled silently to make ends meet. He hoped this wasn't the case for his cousin. Verity’s cafe had always seemed a labour of love and since she’d taken it over two years ago, she’d seemed not just more cheerful but more alive.

“Good enough to keep me self sufficient and out from under Father’s thumb. Then again he bought me the cafe in the first place--my consolation prize since he believed I’d never marry,” she said.

“Verity, I’m sure he doesn't…” Ross stammered.

“Have faith in my ability to attract a mate? Oh, but Ross, that's where he’s wrong. I’ve found someone, someone special and now we’re even talking about marrying…” she said with a blushing smile.

“Verity! That's stupendous. But to keep it a secret? Why so cloak and dagger? Who is the bloke?”

“Well, Ross, it isn’t a bloke. Andrea is a pilot. She does the daily flight to Manchester out of Newquay and we’ve been together just over a year.”

“A year? And you haven’t brought her round? But really, that’s wonderful. You’re happy together?”

“Very much so but that’s all the more reason why it’s important to keep the cafe afloat so I can be free to live my own life, especially since it is nearly certain Father will cut all ties with me soon.”

“He doesn’t know, I’m assuming.” Ross could feel her dilemma.

“No, he doesn’t know about Andrea. But Elizabeth does. Ruth Teague saw me with Andrea in Truro and said something to Elizabeth. I imagine word will get out knowing Ruth, but Elizabeth been very supportive and discreet. She’s a kind and decent person, Ross.”

“I’m sure she is,” he said simply. He did not want to talk about Elizabeth.

“Although she has been trying to convince me to tell Father. I just need to find the right time. Maybe after the baby is born, he’ll be in good spirits to finally have the son he’s always wanted…"

“So it’s to be a boy then?” he asked. He wasn’t sure why that mattered to him.

Verity nodded.

“Verity, are you sure Uncle Charles wouldn't come to accept this? It’s who you are and who you love.”

“Ross, have you not listened to the hate-filled things that come out of his mouth? His views are very narrow and he has never been effusive in his affection for me, as it is,” she said matter-of-factly.

“Well, no matter what, you have me and my love and support. And I want to meet Andrea, soon,” he said, taking her hand in his with a warm squeeze.

“It’s kind of you to say. If I find myself homeless I can come live in your broom cupboard.”

“No, I’ve the rooms above the north barn ready now.”

“So you’re moving ahead with your Airbnb plan after all?” she asked.

This had been another of Ross’s new schemes--a desperate one to help make ends meet until after the hops were harvested.

“By the end of the summer I hope to have completed enough repairs on the main house to make it comfortable for guests. What’s left is well...‘rustic charm’. And a working farm makes for an authentic experience, which apparently tourists seek out,” he explained. He wasn’t exactly looking forward to sharing his space with strangers but every cent counted. He was still hopeful he could arrange matters so he’d have minimal contact with any guests. Maybe he could sleep in his truck.

“That’s brilliant, Ross. I hope it works out for you.”

“Even if it brings in just a little extra cash, it will be worth it. Of course Prudie’s not overjoyed at the extra housework that we’ll have, but I suspect Demelza will be of help there.”

“I’ll send loads of referrals your way, Ross,” Verity said. “By the way, does the name George Warleggan mean anything to you?”

“Should it?”

“Oh I thought he'd been at school with you,” she said.

“Yes, that George, of course. We always called him ‘Bull’. I suppose that wasn't very kind. Everything about him had appeared a bit thick. Why?”

“He's a developer now and has been spending a lot of time with Father. They aren’t partners but seem to have some business together.”

“Does this trouble you?” Ross asked. There was a hint of worry in her voice now.

“Well, his approach is different,” she replied after thinking carefully for a moment. “Father likes to repackage neglected properties and parcels of land to sell to foreign investors, who then largely remain absent. Of course to Father anyone from north of Devon is foreign. But George, is different. He, well, he has no qualms about displacing people. Pulling buildings down, raising rents. And he’s been making his presence felt in Truro lately. My neighbours can no longer afford to let their bakery space next door to the cafe. George is their landlord as of last month.”

“Are you in danger?” Ross asked.  

“Oh no. Not unless Father sold to George, which I don't think he would. Even to spite me. Father too has that Poldark streak and is not easily parted with something he took the bother to acquire.”

“I hate to see so much change,” Ross sighed.

Verity stopped to face him then squeezed his hand.

“Oh Ross, everything is always changing. Always has been.”

Notes:

I had to do a bit of research on hop cultivating and found it to be fascinating stuff (https://www.lansingcitypulse.com/stories/the-life-cycle-of-the-hop,1548)

Almost makes me want to try it on my own--or just go drink an ale. Please forgive any liberties or mistakes I made. T'was all in the name of fiction.

Chapter 7: The Chicken & the Fox

“Fuckin’ hell!” Ross heard Demelza mutter from inside the west barn. He was curious to see what was irking her, so he abandoned his plans to work indoors on the farm accounts, and walked over to peer in.

She had finished stacking bags of feed on a wooden pallet and now was angrily gathering the plastic bins she used for feeding the goats. On the other side of the pen, the kids clambered to get closer to her, stepping on one another, incessantly bleating to get her attention. They didn’t just expect to be fed by her hands but knew them to be affectionate as well.

This afternoon, however, Demelza seemed oblivious to their desperate calls. Slamming the bins in the corner in a huff, she absently kicked at a coil of rope then stopped, and threw it over her shoulder.

“Come on Garrick,” she grumbled to the dog. “What makes a body so foolish as to think she could just ignore everyone and go do her own thing?”

“Are you referring to anyone I know?” Ross asked, trying to lighten her seemingly grey mood. It was an unusual reversal.

“Yeah, that stupid Marzipan…” she began without looking up at him.

“Marzipan?” he asked.

“Number 48, one of Amy’s little girls. The one with the pretty black ears,” she said. “She’s always so fuckin’…” She stopped to correct her language when she saw Ross’s raised brow. “She’s so damn curious and always off explorin’. She don’t know her place!” she added indignantly.

“Sounds like someone I know. But you know, a thirst for knowledge isn’t a bad thing, Demelza.”

“It is when you’re a little goat and push through a fence. Now me an’ Garrick have to go out and look fer her. Could take hours, then I’ll be behind in my chores…” she grumped.

This was unlike her. Usually she’d see goat wrangling as an adventure, a perk of the job.

“She could be anywhere if she went through that fence,” she continued. “Hope she’s not on Bodrugan’s land. That mental lady might shoot her.”

“Constance Bodrugan is odd but at least she’s a bad aim,” Ross laughed. “You think the goat’s gone that far?”

“Yeah. Possibly. Can I take Adele, Mister Ross?”

“Who’s Adele?” he asked.

“Yer horse.”

“Is that her name now? I thought her name was Elsa.”

“Not since Christmas, Mister Ross,” she said with a dismissive sigh.

It was hopeless to try to keep up. The girl--and her mind--just moved too fast, wandering from one thing to another. She had already walked past him towards the stable without waiting for his reply. Intrigued, he followed her and watched as she began to silently saddle the grey mare.

At Demelza’s touch, Adele’s ears pointed forward then to the side. Excited to get moving, the horse let out a soft snuff from relaxed nostrils.

“Let me go with you,” Ross offered. “If I take the tractor we can cover twice as much ground in half the time.”

She stopped midway through buckling the bridle to look at him--it was almost a glare then she caught herself and exhaled impatiently.

“Mister Ross, that will hardly work, will it?” she said. “The tractor will spook Adele.”

“I’ll go west and you can go northeast,” he countered.

“And then if you find Marzipan? Are you gonna put her under yer arm and still somehow manage to drive the tractor back?”

“I could ask the same of you,” he laughed. “Do you really think you can manage the kid while on a horse?”

“Oh, no, yer right,” she said and fell into a moment of quiet contemplation. “I’m stupid not to have…”

“Look,” he said, growing a little worried by her unusual moodiness. Well, it was probably not unusual for a normal teenager but just not usual for her. “Let’s go together--on the horse. Then if we find her, one of us can walk back with the goat and one of us can ride. We can take it in turns.”

“Both on the horse?” she asked.

He looked her up and down for a minute, then nodded.

“You are not yet so grown that we can’t both fit. But I get the front and you have to let me manage the reins…”

This plan was apparently agreeable to her, for a grin spread across her face and she began to lead the horse from her stall with the slightest little skip returned to her step.

“When we find her...not if,” Demelza said. “You gotta be optimistic.”

“Is that so?” He laughed and swung up on the horse then extended his hand to her.

It was only an awkward ride for the first few minutes until Demelza settled in and allowed herself to hold tightly to Ross with both her arms and her legs. He knew it was difficult for her, how she hated ceding control, but finally she rested her cheek against his back, trusting his horse handling. Adele took the weight of the extra rider in good spirits and after a brief huff of questioning Ross’s commands, assumed a steady trot. Ross wanted to keep her slow, both for their safety and to allow them to better scour the fields for the wayward goat. But she was a fast horse and eager to break free, especially when she saw Garrick racing up ahead of them. No wonder Demelza liked her so much.

They had ridden about ten minutes when they reached the spot of the fence that had been compromised and got down to inspect. It seemed someone had widened the gaps between the wire bracing--either to get out or to get in.

“Hope it wasn’t a fox,” she said.

“A fox is more sly and wouldn’t plow its way through. He’d go under or find some clever way ‘round,” Ross replied.

Garrick gave a quick sniff then went off to find his own adventure. He had no interest in searching for a wayward goat--apparently there was not enough hound in him to find following a scent compelling.

“Whereas a stubborn little goat head would just keep rammin’ and rammin’ until she’d gotten her way!” Demelza laughed. “It’s a miracle she didn't get her whole body stuck.”

“You think this is where she went?” Ross asked scanning the fields.

“Look Mister Ross!” Demelza pointed across the meadow. About two hundred yards in the distance, the little goat was quietly munching wildflowers, oblivious to the presence of its would-be captors.

“You stay here and I’ll sneak over to…” Ross whispered but Demelza had already begun to climb over the fence.

She took about ten good paces forward then whistled. This caught the goat’s attention and it looked up unblinking.

“Marzipan! Dinner time!” Demelza called.

So much for stealth.

“Demelza!” Ross hissed. “You’ve alerted her, now she’ll only run away…” But to his surprise the goat turned when it heard Demelza’s voice again and called back.

“Baah-eh-eh-eh!”

“Marzipan!”

The girl took a few more steps into the meadow and the kid immediately came bounding towards her. Demelza didn't need to go far to reach the goat for it knew to trust her and came happily on its own. In a few minutes, Demelza had the rope around its neck and the wriggling bleating kid in her arms.

“You naughty thing! Such trouble you caused. I had to come all this way to fetch you home,” she chided. “Why don’t you know yer place?”

The plan had been to take it in turns, as Ross had proposed. One would carry the goat while the other rode. But in the end, Ross felt indebted to Demelza for her role in the goat rescue and let her ride while he was on goat duty. He tried pulling Marzipan by the lead but found it more efficient to carry her under his arm. She nibbled first at the dark hair on his hand, then the cuffs of his shirt, then his wrist watch.

The early evening sun was still bright but just beginning to show signs of fading rosy pink where it met the horizon. It had been such a warm and glorious summer--unlike any Ross could remember. He reminded himself that he mustn't come to count on such weather in subsequent years and take too many risks with the hops. Was he really daring to think about the future?

“What do you want to be when you grow up?” he thought to ask Demelza as he walked beside the horse. He suspected it was mere minutes before she begged to go racing ahead of him.

“A vet!” she said without hesitation.

“Of course,” he laughed. He should have known.

“But bein’ a vet takes lots of schoolin’ so I'll probably start with bein’ a vet tech,” she said, as though she had thought this out before.

“That's a good plan,” he nodded.

“Yeah, well they counsel us on that in school. You know, what courses we need to be on, what exams we’ll need…”

Ross remembered the counseling he got in school. Don’t aim too high or be too unrealistic. Be practical. But dream big--with the proper confidence and hard work you can do anything. They never saw how the messages got muddled. Just who was it who’d suggested the army to him?

“Do you ever get... other counseling?” he dared to ask.

“Sometimes,” she said, “but I stop sayin’ much if they start askin’ questions about my dad. It’s not just me but also my brothers I have to think of.” She replied to his query so openly, so earnestly. He recalled in a flash her trusting arms around his waist on the ride over. Why did she have such faith in him?

“Does your dad hit your brothers?” he asked gently.

“No, just me because I’m a girl and because I remind him of mum and because he is so full of anger it has to come out somewhere,” she answered matter-of-factly.

“But he hasn't for a while?” Ross needed reassurance on that score.

“No, he hasn’t,” she said with a weak smile then gave a quick laugh to let him know she was changing the subject. “What do you want to be, Mister Ross?”

“When I grow up?”

“When you get older, I mean. Do you like farmin’?”

“I used to not but you may have noticed I’m stubborn. I want to make this farm work and thwart any land development.”

“Don't tell your uncle that,” she laughed.

Ross was surprised she’d caught that about a man she’d only heard of but never actually met. But maybe he wasn’t surprised after all--she was a quick learner.

“And I like the physical labour and the problem solving,” he went on. Was he trying to convince himself?

“Well, we’ve got lots of problems to solve, don’t we?” She laughed again and he felt moved by the warmth and camaraderie she offered in that moment. But there was also a wisdom, a maturity--she sounded like a matronly aunt or an old neighbour he might meet at the pub, not a fourteen year old girl.

“How do you do at school, Demelza?” he asked and instantly felt ashamed that he’d never thought of inquiring sooner.

“I get on okay. I like some of it and I do well. Well enough so no one notices me too much, but not so well that they'd notice me more.”

“When do you find the time to do your revising and homework?”

“I used to stay up late but last term I started doin’ it in the mornin’. I'm up early anyway and I found I prefer it then. My head is clear and it’s more quiet.”

“Up early, you’d make a good farmer,” he mused.

“I also think about stuff when I'm workin’ here. You know, run though my Spanish verbs or my chemistry formulae while I'm tendin’ the pigs or groomin’ the horse or haulin’ manure.”

“That's the sign of a good mind,” he said.

“No one has ever called me that before.” She snorted a little laugh.

“Well if you need space for homework when school starts up again, tell me and we can set aside time for you. Here I mean--you can use my library.”

“Thanks, Mister Ross,” she said and rode silently next to him, deep in thought. “Oh! This is just like the farmer, the fox, and the sack of grain,” she cried after a few minutes.

“What is?”

“The horse, the tractor, and the goat is like that riddle. The farmer has to get the chicken and the fox and the grain across in a boat but can only take one at a time and he can’t leave the fox alone with the chicken or the chicken with the grain so...do you know it?” she rambled on.

“Yes, but this isn't quite the same...”

“Well, if we’d taken the tractor it would have meant an extra trip. Let’s see how would that have worked?” she pondered. “Once we found her, you could have taken the tractor home then come back by foot for the goat but then I’d have to stay with the goat so what would that mean for the horse? I guess she could stay too.”

“It’s not the same thing at all, Demelza,” he laughed at her persistence. “Ok tell me, are you the fox or the chicken?”

“Who says I’m not the sack of grain?” she giggled. “Oh there's the rope! I could have tied up the horse and carried the goat…”

“Or tied up the goat and ridden the horse…” he replied.

“But not with the tractor…”

The endless iterations seemed to entertain them for the remainder of the journey home. Once back at Nampara, Ross led Adele to her stall to rub her down while Demelza took Marzipan to the goat pen to be reunited with her siblings. She fed all the flock their evening meal, with a little extra for her prodigal kid, then met Ross in the yard to see what Prudie might have waiting in the kitchen for them.

They were both still laughing but not about anything in particular anymore when they stepped into the dark kitchen.

“Grrhhh…” a low wheezing sound emerged from the shadows. They were not alone.

Demelza froze at once and Ross instinctively stepped in front of her.

Tom Carne was sitting at the table and it didn’t take much examination to see he was drunk. Prudie was nowhere to be seen.

“Mister Carne, were you invited into my house?” Ross started.

“Back door was open,” the man said gruffly. “Come to take my daughter home. Get yer self changed before you come into my car. You smell like a goat,” he snarled to the girl.

“Demelza,” Ross’s voice was firm but had a secret warmth to it. It let her know he was managing the scene and was in control. “Find Prudie in her room and tell her I said it’s urgent. Then you go wait in the parlour.”

“Yes, Mister Ross.”

Prudie came in a few minutes later and as soon as she saw Tom Carne, her eyes narrowed and she began to wring her hands.  

“What’s this, Captain Ross?” she hissed. Ross could detect a low growl forming at the back of her throat. It would do no good to have Prudie and this man come to blows in his home. He had to remain calm.

“Mister Carne has come to take his daughter home but he’s in no shape to drive,” Ross explained.

“Whassat? You little...Whassit to you the state I’m in?” Tom Carne erupted. “If I hear one more word from yer pretty boy mouth I’ll…” He tried to stand but his legs got tangled under the table. He caught himself before he fell on the floor, then wiped his nose with the back of his hand menacingly.

“You’ll do no such thing, you stinkin’ penn-kalgh. You ent gettin’ behind that wheel with yer girl and that's final!” Prudie spat.

“An’ jus’ what if I do? She’s my own daughter…” The man shifted his jaw to grind his yellow, pointy teeth. It was a mouth that had probably been punched a fair number of times and for good reason.

“Then as soon as you drive away from this farm, regardless of who you have with you, I’ll ring the constable and he will intercept you within a mile. You won’t be driving anytime soon after that, Mr. Carne. Can you really say it’s worth it?” Ross said, shaking his head in disbelief.

“You wouldn't dare…” Tom Carne was still seated but swayed a bit nonetheless.

“Oh yes he would and so would I. We'll hear no more from yer filthy mouth,” Prudie concluded and marched off to tend to the girl.

---

Prudie took Demelza in Tom Carne’s car while Ross drove the man in his truck. The entire drive to Illogan, Tom Carne said nothing, which was just as well, for Ross wasn’t sure he’d be able to control himself were the man to speak ill of Demelza.

Ross felt a bit like the fox left alone with the chicken but knew that it was the better pairing, and that Tom Carne was safer with him than with Prudie. And this way Prudie could keep an eye on Demelza, maybe help calm her agitation in a way Ross couldn’t. Ross sensed that if the girl saw him upset she’d only get more fretful and would then try to soothe him. That certainly wasn’t her responsibility, and he couldn’t add another layer of complexity to her already troubled evening.

Ross was angry at Tom for his darkness, for his cruel ways, but mostly for having ruined Demelza’s mood. She’d shaken off whatever was bothering her earlier that day and once she was in the fields, had grown lighter. She’d laughed and spoke of her thoughts of the future. That’s what she should be doing--playing, dreaming, and wondering. Ross marveled at how she’d learned to be so attentive, so tender to living things having spent all those years in her father’s house?

Ross should have bothered to ask her what was troubling her earlier. Of course it was most likely her home life--just because Ross could forget it from time to time didn’t mean she could. Ross had been a fool to think he’d somehow managed her father this past year, that the man’s poisonous threats didn’t extend as far as Nampara. He had been wrong, of course--and it would be more years still before they’d really be free from the hateful shadow of Tom Carne.

 

Chapter 8: Nampara Girl

Ross had washed off another dirty day in the fields and was just coming downstairs when he stopped in the hallway. He smelled it before he saw it. 

The Nampara kitchen usually had a vaguely greasy smell--a stale odor of warmed over potatoes lingered permanently, sometimes it mingled with the smell of something burnt. But today the scents were different, inviting. Warm spices, some ginger and some garlic, then more layers--one sweet and another that was smoky, but appealingly so. It wasn’t just enticing but somehow served to put Ross’s mind at ease. One less thing in his life he’d have to bristle against.

He breathed deeply again and strode into the kitchen to find the table laid with what looked to be sweet potato curry soup, parmesan scones, and roasted asparagus spears wrapped in bacon.

“What’s this?” he asked.

“The girl made supper,” Prudie said, not turning away from the telly she was watching.  

Ross hadn’t liked the idea of moving a television into the kitchen but then figured it wasn’t really his work space and if it meant Prudie spent less time alone in her room and more time out in the house--where she was supposed to be busy--then perhaps it was a battle he wouldn’t fight.

“Where’d she learn to do that?” Ross asked and sat down at a plate that seemed to be meant for him. There was no sign of Demelza around, so without waiting for a formal invitation, he greedily took spoon in hand.

“Cookin’ channel on the telly. She watches it all the time and wanted to give it a try,” Prudie responded.

The soup was amazing--tangy, warm, rich--and certainly lived up to the hype its own aroma had created. Ross picked up a scone and was not disappointed by the salty crust of melted cheese; it begged to be dipped in the bowl. He was trying not to smack his lips in anticipation before devouring the asparagus.

“Do you ever watch it with her?” Ross asked Prudie after a few uninterrupted moments of tucking into the food in front of him. He thought he was being diplomatic but she saw through him and left the room in a huff. 

But what Prudie perceived as an insult worked to his advantage. From that point on, Demelza cooked their evening meals quite regularly. 

-----

“You brought them! Oh Verity! I’ll bet they’re amazin’!” Demelza helped Verity lift the box from the boot of the car and began to dance about with it in her arms.

“Here, I think you’ll like this one--it’s pink--try it on,” Verity replied holding up a medium sized t-shirt that read ‘Nampara Hopyard’. She laughed amused by the girl’s enthusiasm. “Just in time for your first guests, Ross. Tell me, when do they arrive?”

“There’s a Norwegian family coming on the 8th. They’ll be taking over the entire house for almost a week,” Ross explained. 

“How’s Prudie taking that?” Verity asked.

“Well, her room has a separate entrance so she can stay put and try her best to ignore the new arrangement. I suspect we’ll see little of her.” Ross said. He’d been standing by watching Verity and Demelza unload the box but couldn’t understand what exactly was the fuss.

It had been Verity’s idea to have t-shirts made to sell to vacationers and holiday makers, a souvenir of their time on a working hops farm, and Demelza’s to have at least some of them done in pink.

“Why is everything pink with her?” he muttered. 

Pink did seem to be the girl’s latest obsession and that winter she’d even dyed a nice stripe of pink in her hair. At the time it had been a bold move for the girl and one that seemed to give her a strange, new confidence. More and more, instead of shrinking into the shadows and hiding among the pigs, she was now asking to be noticed. 

“Well, Mister Ross? Do you like it?” Demelza had asked him the first time she debuted her pink locks in the Nampara kitchen. Ross only slightly raised his eyes from the invoices he was scanning and grunted an acknowledgement that she’d spoken.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” she giggled.

“Well, it’s only temporary and won’t last forever,” Prudie reasoned, trying to convince herself it wasn’t that bad. She’d been hoping to persuade Demelza to go blonder but the girl had scoffed at lightened hair as “too artificial”--somehow pink was perfectly natural in her reasoning. “Better than goin’ jet black and bein’ all Goth like they did when Captain Ross was a boy.”

“Were you, Mister Ross? Did you wear like, actual eyeliner? I can’t imagine that…can’t imagine you as a teenager at all, come to think of it,” Demelza added.

“Prudie, what sort of tales are you spinning here? I was hardly a Goth, Demelza.” Ross shook his head and gave a faint laugh.

“Alright, not a proper Goth but he was dark and gloomy all the same, listened to the most depressin’ music…” Prudie went on.

“Mister Ross still listens to depressin’ music,” Demelza laughed. “Why’d they even call themselves Joy Division if there’s no joy in ‘em?” 

“Demelza, they’re named after…” he began then saw she was teasing him. He’d explained this to her before but it had been an ongoing joke between them. Whenever Demelza rode in the truck with Ross, she was forever trying to switch on the radio but he insisted on listening to the odd pile of CDs he kept stuffed in the cupholder.  

Once, while Ross was playing Tom Waits, she shook her head and said, “I think this might actually be the most borin’ song in the universe.”

“You’ll change your mind when you’re older,“ he said.

“I doubt that,” she sighed and put in her earbuds.

Since Demelza had been back out in the fields that spring most of the shocking pink had faded from her hair and what remained just blended in with her natural strawberry blond. Apparently she now had to look elsewhere for her required dose of colour.

“Oh Ross, pink isn’t so bad and she’s just having fun,” Verity said. She'd obviously grown fond of the girl. “Why not have something bright around here to counter your grey doom? But since you ask, there are other colours too. Tonkin and Trevaunance are thrilled with the idea, you know, so we had this batch made specifically to sell at the Carnmore tent at the festival. Tonkin had coasters made too, of course.”

Truro was to hold a festival the following week with street food, craft stalls, local talent--the usual fare--but this year it also boasted several special events celebrating the uptick in local brewing. Richard Tonkin and John Trevaunance owned the small brewery--Carnmore--that Ross had sold most of his hops harvest to. It was a partnership that held tremendous promise. 

“We’ve had a good run--we’ve been lucky--but I’d rather not call such attention to…” Ross began.

“You sound superstitious, Ross! When did you start acting like Aunt Agatha! As much as you may not like the way business works, you need to be savvy and play the game,”  Verity explained.

He tried not to roll his eyes.

“And the lads at Carnmore think your hops are what’s made a difference this past year and will put them on the map. They just want to highlight that their beer is not only brewed locally like a dozen other new start ups, but theirs is also made with local hops--Nampara Hops. It’s a sort of…”

“Please don't say branding. I’d rather take a hot iron to my own forehead!” Ross sputtered.

“Oh yes? And just what would it say, Ross?” Verity laughed. “I could think of a few choice words to describe you…”

He reluctantly smiled at her joke, pleased that she was in good spirits. The past year had been a good one for Verity. Although she hadn’t yet opened up with her father about her relationship with Andrea Blamey as she had planned, being in love clearly suited her. She had a merry smile on her lips and a blush to her cheeks--she looked about ten years younger whereas Ross seemed to have aged a decade in just a few months.

Ross had met Andrea on several occasions and found he liked her. She was smart and had a sharp sense of humour but most importantly, she took Verity’s happiness seriously. He thought them a good match and hoped his cousin would be brave enough to share this important part of herself with the rest of her family. Six months after the birth of his much longed for son, Uncle Charles was still beaming with pride but brusque as ever with Verity. He was completely preoccupied with his baby, Geoffrey Charles, and seemed rather uninterested in any other relatives, except of course for his young wife, Elizabeth. And she remained stunningly beautiful--apparently motherhood agreed with her.

Knowing that Uncle Charles was detached from Verity and Elizabeth remained distant from him, Ross tried his best to stay away from the Trenwith Road Poldarks unless the rare family obligation required his presence. But more often than not, Verity came to see him at Nampara, so Ross still felt connected to some family--to the one that mattered to him anyway.

“They are expecting record crowds at the Truro festival this year,” Verity said.

“Great. More tourism.”

“Ross, if they are coming anyway, at least they should come for uniquely local things. I mean, once they’re here why should they drink the same thing they could get in Manchester or Newcastle? Cornwall craft beer is gaining notoriety and I think that’s brilliant. It’s another special feature about the place.” She’d been thinking about the increased tourism a lot and unlike Ross, felt it wasn’t all bad. Of course there were ways it benefited local businesses, as long as it was properly engineered and didn't go unchecked.

“We already have better beaches, they needn’t come for our distinct beer too,” Ross replied.

“You almost sound like you don’t want the small breweries to succeed!”

“No, I just don't want to be the front man for its commercialisation,” he sighed.

“Too late for that I’m afraid. The success of your hopyard is inspiring! I’ve heard from my insider sources that Carnmore is a favourite to win the gold medal this year. They deserve it--I’ve always been a fan of their Grambler Copper Ale but the new Wheal Leisure IPA and the Wheal Reath Session IPA are really outstanding. Very hopsy--piney, grassy…”

“You could just go lick the fields if that appeals to you,” he joked.

“Ross!” She laughed and hit his arm affectionately. 

“What does ‘wheal’ mean anyway?” Demelza came back out wearing the shirt she’d been given. “I seen the word all over but never thought to ask.”

“It’s Cornish for ‘place of work’ but it’s often associated with old copper and tin mines--many had 'wheal' in their names,” Ross explained. “Carnmore calls all their beers after historic mines.”

“I think it’s cute--and distinctly local,” Verity winked. 

“Oh, yeah I guess that’s where I seen it--when we went on that school trip to Wheal Coates. Did you learn Cornish in school back in your day, Mister Ross?”

“No... Back in my day? Demelza, exactly how old do you think I am?” he laughed.

“Maybe forty something?” she offered.

Verity tried hard to contain her snort of laughter; Ross was clearly less amused by Demelza’s gaffe.

“My dear, that’s adorable,” Verity said, looking at Demelza in the pink shirt and trying to change the subject. “It’s also very flattering on you,” she added.

At that Ross glanced quickly down at his feet. Instinctively he did not want to look for evidence that the girl’s fifteen year old body had begun to take on curves and that the cut of the shirt might accentuate them at all. Oblivious to Ross’s flash of discomfort, Demelza whirled around.

“Who are all these folks, anyway?” she asked Verity, awkwardly trying to point to the list of names on the back of the shirt.

“Oh those are all the sponsors who are underwriting the festival this year.” 

“Takes a lot of folks to put on a festival, I suppose,” Demelza said. 

“Warleggan Builders & Developers Ltd.?” Ross scanned the list and raised an eyebrow.

“Yes, George’s pawprints are all over this event. It remains to be seen if it is for the better. Ok, Ross, you need a shirt too. What colour then…How about blue?”

“Yes, Mister Ross looks good in blue, don’t you think?” Demelza said.

“Don’t you have black?” he asked.

“See, I knew you’d been a Goth!” Demelza exclaimed.

---

“Hey Miss! You, Nampara Girl! How much for the shirt?”

“£12.50,” Demelza shouted back over the loud music that boomed from the stage up the road. Ross had given her the day off from the farm but she’d been working all day nonetheless. She’d helped Verity at the cafe earlier in the afternoon and once sprung there, had wandered over to the Carnmore Brewery tent, where she was put to work straightaway selling merch--Carnmore glasses, keyrings and bottle openers, and of course Nampara t-shirts. She didn’t mind--she liked being busy and the excitement of the festival was such a contrast to her usual quiet and predictable routine. 

“More interested in whas innit, know what I mean?” the man replied with a wink. His cheeks were red--from too much sun and too much drink--his bleary eyes settled on Demelza’s chest.

She might have found his leering more threatening had she not been surrounded by so many other adults--all friendly faces.

“Sorry, sir, yer at the wrong sort of festival if that’s what yer lookin’ for,” she snorted and turned away from the sale.  

“Everything okay, Demelza?” Richard Tonkin asked. 

She liked Mister Tonkin, one of the owners of Carnmore, and a new friend to Mister Ross. He had kind eyes and the glossiest beard she’d ever seen. In all the times Demelza had met him, Tonkin always seemed to be in a permanently cheerful mood, even when things weren’t going his way. She wondered if he would have any influence on her own employer.

“Oh, everythin’s fine,” she said  brightly. If she told Mister Tonkin about the man’s rude comment, he might send her away. She didn’t want to worry anyone and really just wanted to be of help. They were so busy today and anxious too, for the judging of the beer competition was to happen later that evening. Carnmore had several entries this year--Wheal Leisure IPA and the Wheal Reath Session IPA, both made from Ross’s hops.

“Nampara Girl?” Tonkin laughed. “That has a nice ring to it. Maybe we’ll try a summer ale next.”

“Hey Nampara Girl,” Jim whispered to her. “Why don’t you see if you can get us a drink?”

“Not fucking likely,” Demelza laughed and looked at him with raised brows. It was a stupid idea but Jim was full of those, she’d found. Like the time he had used pig manure to fertilise the kitchen garden.

“C’mon, Demelza. Tonkin would totally pour you one. He probably thinks you’re older than you really are and anyway it’s different for girls. They can always get drinks when they’re underage…” Jim continued to plead his case.

“And then, what if they found out we were underage? You’d really do that to Mister Ross?” Her arms were crossed and she was tapping her foot, Prudie-style. It was an easy argument for Demelza to make. Ross had trust in her and she’d never do anything to put that in jeopardy. Besides, she’d decided recently that she didn’t really like ale.

“You two enjoying yourselves?” Ross asked suddenly. 

Unaware that Ross had come up behind him, Jim was immediately terrified he’d been overheard in his scheming. The boy’s face flushed red and his head hung at once. 

“Why yes, and you, Mister Ross?” Demelza asked, thoroughly amused by Jim’s discomfort.

“Well, this isn’t exactly my scene. I was thinking we’d go home soon…” Ross muttered.

“And miss the judgin’? Oh Mister Ross!” she cried.

“Sometimes I think you’re more invested in this venture than I am, Demelza,” Ross replied. “Okay, we can stay longer if you’d like.”

“You’d be doin’ it for Mister Tonkin,” she smiled.

“Of course, for Tonkin.”

“Mister Ross? Who’s that man over there with Mister Trevaunance?” Demelza pointed to two men huddled in conversation behind the tent.

John Trevaunance--the other co-owner of Carnmore--had his head bent attentively while a shorter man gripped his arm and waggled a menacing finger about. The shorter man seemed angry and was threatening Trevaunance, not with any physical intimidation but maybe with his words.

“That’s George Warleggan,” Ross answered, growing curious himself.

“Well whatever he’s sayin’ to Mister Trevaunance, it doesn’t look like good news…” Demelza observed.

“No, it does not,” Ross agreed. “Perhaps I should go see…”

But before Ross could finish his sentence, Trevaunance jerked away from Warleggan, and looking over his shoulder furtively, walked away in great haste.

“Oh Mister Ross! You are wearin’ it after all,” Demelza exclaimed when she noticed the blue t-shirt peeking out from Ross’s plaid shirt. “But you can’t be hidin’ it,” she laughed and undid a few more of his buttons to reveal the white lettering. “That’s better,” she declared.

“Alright, a photo then, all in your matching shirts,” Tonkin called out. “You too, young Jim!” 

Later, that photo got a place of honor on the wall in Tonkin’s office at Carnmore, right next to the framed picture of him and Trevaunance receiving both gold and silver medals at the Truro competition. In the shot Tonkin had captured of the Nampara Hopyard crew, Ross was in the middle, his arms around Jim and Demelza who were laughing on either side of him. And for once, Ross Poldark was smiling.

Chapter 9: Outrunning the Shadows

“Mister Ross?” Jim had always called him just Ross but recently had taken to adding Mister, since it was what Demelza did. Apparently she had some sort of an influence on him.

“Yes, Jim. What is it?” Ross answered. The boy seemed troubled, and worried about what he was going to say.

“It’s not my place but I thought you maybe should know. It’s, well, it’s Demelza. Look,” he muttered and pointed over to Demelza just visible through the stable door.

The girl was wearing track pants, her favourite pink Ibiza t-shirt, wellies--her normal work attire. And sunglasses. It was a grey, overcast day. There was no need for shades.

What’s she hiding? 

Ross’s heart fell and a rush of anger rose from his gut that he wasn’t quite prepared for. It had been months since the shadow of Tom Carne’s violent temper had crept into their lives. Ross’s first instinct was to get into his truck and go beat the hell out of the man, but he had enough sense to pause. He’d need to gather more information before he ran off half-cocked.

“Thanks, Jim,” Ross said reassuringly, and clapped the boy on the shoulder.  

He crossed the yard and stood in the doorway for a moment, trying to find the right words.

“Demelza, come talk to me a minute,” he said solemnly.  

“Yes, Mister Ross?” she said without looking up. Her hair, usually worn up or back when doing chores, was down today, almost making a curtain behind which to hide her face.

“You saw your father last night?” he asked slowly.

“Yes, he was home. Didn't quite expect that.”

“You’re here early this afternoon. Did you go to school today?” His voice was calm and measured, though the fire in his belly roared hotter.

“No. I...wasn’t quite up to it.”

“Demelza.” That was all Ross said but it was the way he said it that mattered--his tone was warm, rich with encouragement.

“Yes, Mister Ross….” Her response was simple but it too conveyed more meaning than the three words she actually spoke.  

“Can I see?” Now he was especially gentle. 

Without looking up, she lowered the sunglasses and pushed her hair behind her ears.

“Good God, Demelza!” Ross’s face betrayed his horror.

She had the red-grey shadow of a mark next to her eye and another on her cheek bone. 

“He thought I’d knocked over his lager. Listen, I give him space and I stay away. There was no way I’d come between him and his drink. He probably did it himself and didn't even remember. Any way he slapped me with the back of his hand... here and here.”

Ross winced when she touched her face and marveled at the conflicted feelings he held. Tenderness for the girl. Murderous rage for her father. Somehow he realised he needed to take a practical tack.

“Have you put ice to it? It might not be too late to take down some swelling.”

“It don’t hurt. Not now anyway. It’s...it just don’t look pretty,” she said looking at her feet. “It should be gone by Monday.”

“Demelza...I can’t let this go. I have a responsibility…” He hated himself at that moment but what choice did he have? He somehow always knew this day would come--and yet he still had no idea how to proceed.

“Mister Ross,” she gasped. “Please don’t call social services. They’ll put us into care. All of us--and he don’t hurt my brothers. Not sure why he only hates me so much.”

“He doesn’t hate you,” Ross said automatically. But could he be sure? What the hell was wrong with Tom Carne that he couldn’t see the beauty and goodness of this girl? Why was the wretched man so incapable of giving his daughter the love and care she deserved? 

“And then I won’t get to come here no more and help you. Mister Ross, please!” she cried.

“Demelza, I can’t let him hurt you anymore.” 

She was choking back desperate sobs now. The sounds that escaped her mouth came from somewhere deep. They were cries of fear, not fear of physical pain but fear of loss. Loss of freedom, loss of love.

“Please, please…” she begged.

He was completely unprepared for this emotional response from her. He’d seen her angry or disappointed but she’d never cried nor broken down entirely. She usually took setbacks in their course and just got on with it. They’d all come to count on her even temper and steadfast nature--all of them, even Jim who had started to look to her for advice when things went awry on the farm. To see her crumble meant something dire for all of them. 

“There may be a way,” Ross said, surprised by his own voice. He hadn’t really formulated the thoughts yet he was already impulsively putting them into words. “You know I’ve cleared out the rooms over the north barn.”

She nodded. She’d helped him, in fact, as this had been a long term project. The plan had been to take on Airbnb guests last autumn but they’d been too busy with the harvest so it was delayed until that spring. Their first guests arrived next week, and when they did, Ross would temporarily vacate the house and stay in the barn. Despite the success of the burgeoning hopyard, he still very much needed the extra income.

“I’ve asked Jim to live-in this coming summer but why don’t you as well? We’ve the space. There are two rooms ready now, but easily could be three if we worked on the one used for storage. It’s not luxury but there’s power and a shared bathroom. You could take the front room--it’s the biggest one--as soon as you’d like. Then you’d be here more and able to help Prudie with the cleaning, the linen changes, hoovering, etc. We’ll need a much higher standard of cleanliness than she’s used to if outsiders are staying with us.” He was trying to stress the practical side of this hastily hatched scheme.

“Really?” she looked at him through tear-filled eyes.

“You’d also be around in the early morning for the chores then, which you know is when the stock have most of their needs. But I don’t want to overwork you,” he added.

“It wouldn’t be too much at all! I wake early every day. I’d be happy to…”

“That is, if you think your family won’t miss you,” he said soberly. 

Perhaps their need for her is greater than mine, he thought.

“You know they don’t. My brothers sometimes notice me but only when they want something done for them that they're too lazy to do themselves,” she replied. 

“I’d talk to your father. You could go home anytime you wish but you can stay as long as you’d like. For summer holidays, it will work well. Then when school starts up again we can see how you feel.”

“Oh Mister Ross!” Her eyes, her smile revealed such relief, such gratitude, but a flicker of desperation remained. As though staying at Nampara was a matter of life or death for her.

Good god, what have I just waded into?

----

Informing Tom Carne of this arrangement had been easier than Ross anticipated, largely because Demelza beat him to the punch.

“I’m gonna live at the farm for awhile,” she’d announced to her father that weekend, matter-of-factly. “There’s rooms above the barn for the help and I’m old enough now. Animals need me more.” Her tone was completely impassive and she wasn’t opening the door for debate.

“That so?” her father had said.

“Yeah,” she replied simply.

“And if we need you?”

“Ring me and I’ll come home. Be back now and then anyway,” she added casually. “You know how it is.”

“Poldark payin’ you any less? I mean takin’ anythin’ out for room and board?” he asked.

“No.”

“Awright then,” he nodded as though he cared that she was getting a fair deal. 

And that was it. So when Ross announced to Demelza on the following Monday that he was ready to talk to Tom Carne, she laughed and said, “If you like, but it’s already sorted ‘tween me and him.”

Ross was relieved but also surprised--or maybe just relieved--that her father had given in without a fight. Even if the man didn't care for her, he could have gotten territorial or mean and spiteful about it, just because, well, because he could. But Tom Carne just let the girl go and said nothing at all when Prudie showed up one afternoon to help Demelza with her belongings.

Demelza didn't take much from Illogan--a box of books, two bin bags of clothes, her pillow, and a holdall stuffed with the miscellaneous things teenage girls acquire but can’t part with--an assortment of glow-in-the-dark necklaces, several hair styling wands, a glass from Camel Creek Adventure Park, empty journals, a glittery carnivale masque, framed photos of her and other girls making kissy faces. She’d splurged and bought new pink bedding so she left much of her old room in tact for the Carnes to use as they saw fit.

Prudie had found an old rug in the linen closet that worked nicely across the painted grey floor of the barn bedroom. It had broad green stripes and only one stain that they maneuvered to hide under the bed. Demelza also nicked a half-dead horsehead philodendron from the Nampara parlour to tuck in the sunny corner that overlooked the yard. Of course no one minded and all assumed it would soon flourish again under her care.

The end result was simple, but bright and cheerful. And the girl loved it.

---

The room that Ross had taken for himself was stark and grim in comparison, but at least was clean. He’d never really put much importance to where he laid his head at night anyway. His only slight regret was that the single bed was stiffer and of course smaller than the old mahogany bed he was used to back in his bedroom in the house. He laughed thinking that the bigger mattress was by far older than the one on which he was now tossing and turning, but somehow, since he knew its lumps inside and out, it seemed less troubling. It had been his father’s before Ross inherited the farm--had his parents shared that bed together? He never thought about it before. And it was probably better not to think of the strangers who were sharing it now.

The guests had seemed like nice people. Two quiet children with their noses in books, who barely looked up at their new surroundings--perhaps they were tired from traveling or perhaps it was just possible for children to actually be that reserved. The parents appeared to be gentle, happy people and had been holding hands when they came through the door. Ross wasn’t sure the last time he saw a married couple enjoy each others’ company. Maybe holidays did that for people--he couldn’t say. Were this man and woman now making love in Ross’s squeaky old bed?

It was still early--not quite ten--but Ross had been tired and thought the best way to deal with the dramatic changes in his living situation was to hide himself in sleep. And since that wasn’t coming easily, he sat up and fumbled for the bottle of whisky he’d thought to bring up with him. He didn't bother to switch on a light but still found what he was searching for easily. He poured his drink into a coffee mug--he hadn’t sunk so low that he’d drink straight from a bottle. But he was drinking alone in an empty room while another family now slept in his bed. Was that worse?

“Oh! Uhh...ah!” Low muttering that ended in a gasp came through the wall and Ross recalled that this was the first night he wasn’t alone in the barn.

Unsure if it was fright or despair he’d just heard, Ross was on his feet and outside of Demelza’s door before he had thought about how he might be compromising her privacy.

“Demelza? Are you okay?” he called lightly.

“Oh? Wha..? Mister Ross, that you? C’mon in,” she said.

“Is everything alright?” he asked again, quickly scanning the room for signs of danger. What he expected to see, he didn't know. Garrick was lying next to the girl on the bed, licking her exposed foot that stuck out from under the pink covers.

“Yes, just well, I started to drift off to sleep, then I guess I woke up suddenly. You know when you don't know where you are…”

“It can be startling, yes. Perhaps you’d sleep better if you turned these lights off,” he suggested and reached for the switch on the string of fairy lights she’d tacked to the wall above her bed.

“No, don’t, Can you leave them, Mister Ross? I mean, is that okay?”

Was she really asking for permission? She didn't tend to do that much these days. He laughed gently. He hadn’t pegged her as someone who was afraid of the dark--or afraid of anything really.

“I ain’t afraid of the dark,” she said stoutly as if reading his mind. She sat up and tried to look convincing. She was wearing the faded Talk to me in Dalek t-shirt Prudie had found for her the first night she came to Nampara--of course she no longer swam in it as she had two years ago, but it was still big on her slight frame. 

“Of course you aren’t.” He sat down on the edge of the bed and laughed again. How was it she’d ended up with a double bed? Well, he’d given her the bigger room so he supposed it made sense. 

“It’s just that in Illogan my room overlooks the back garden--it’s the neighbour’s garden really and there’s a light there that shines through the window--and also another light in the house behind ours that's always on.”  

It was, in fact, a curious steady blue glow that she’d only recently begun to suspect might be a grow operation since it was hidden from street view and was never turned off.

“Well, I’m just not used to it but--it’s so dark here in the country, Mister Ross!”

“And quiet too. You’ll get accustomed to it and then soon you won’t be able to sleep anywhere else. I had a hard time when I first entered the army and suddenly had to share a room with a dozen other men.”

“That many men together? They must have stunk!” she laughed.

“Another thing I grew used to.” He was glad to see her smile and was relieved that despite her small cry in the dark, it didn't seem to have been an actual nightmare. It never occurred to him that whatever troubles she kept hidden behind closed doors at Illogan might come to light here at Nampara.  

He gave her a friendly pat on the arm but when he moved his hand away, she shifted her own arm back under it, the way Garrick insistently nosed around for a petting. This time he gave it a quick squeeze, then rose to his feet.

“Good night, Demelza. I’m right down the hall if you need anything and the staircase door is locked with a double bolt in case you were worried…”

“I’m not worried. Good night, Mister Ross. Thank you,” she said softly.

Garrick gave a good stretch of his limbs then sighed deeply to announce he would not, in fact, be moving from Demelza’s side that night. Or any time soon.

---

The next morning Ross woke stiff. It wasn’t just from the narrow uncomfortable bed but from sleeping heavily without moving at all--a drunken sleep. He stood and stretched, then thought he’d better get over to the kitchen and remind Prudie it was her duty now to provide their guests with breakfast. He’d let Demelza sleep in--it might have been a rough night for her.

But when he went to cross the yard he was surprised to see Demelza running up from the valley, Garrick at her heels. She was still too far away but he imagined she was laughing. He waited to greet her.

“Mornin’ Mister Ross!” she called, then remembered their sleeping guests and clasped her hand over her mouth to stifle a giggle. “Garrick an’ me went down to look at the sea. Well, that’s where he led me and I followed. I think he wanted to show me how pretty it looks in the mornin’ sun.”

“Indeed it is. But you’re up early,” Ross noted. “Did you sleep well enough?”

“Oh yes, but I couldn’t have slept any longer if I tried. You should have warned me!”

“Was it too quiet?”

“Not at all. Fucking hell, Mister Ross! The birds here--they’re so damn loud!”

Chapter 10: Pink & Blue

It had grown dark in the study where Ross slumped asleep in his chair. He'd been relieved to have the house back after two straight weeks of guests. While the first family had been quiet and unobtrusive, the next rounds were less so, each family more disruptive and demanding than the last. Still, as emotionally taxing as the Airbnb experiment was proving, it was bringing in some much needed revenue.

The days and evenings had grown much warmer so there was no longer a need for a fire in the grate to fight off any chills but the old armchair remained Ross’s refuge and sitting alone and thinking in it--or trying not to--was still his nightly ritual. So was, on occasion, the bottle.

Ross only half-stirred at the sound of the heavy oak door gently opening. The old farm house was not one for secrets and there wasn’t a floor board that didn't groan nor a hinge that didn't squeak. There’d be no creeping and sneaking about on its watch.

“Garrick!” Demelza whispered sharply to get the dog’s attention while trying not to disturb the quiet of the room. The dog, lying on a rug at Ross’s feet, raised his head and looked at her, then uneasily up at the man in the chair.

Ross woke and muttered something incoherent to even himself, vaguely aware of the slim shadow in the doorway.

“Demelza…” he mumbled, grabbing the arm holds and unsuccessfully attempting to push himself upright.

“Mister Ross? I was looking for Garrick but he don’t seem to want to leave you,” she said. She was hesitant to fully enter the room but then saw Ross didn't look capable of doing much on his own.

“Maybe you should get to bed, sir?” she asked tentatively. 

She was unsure of her role here. Should she walk away and leave before he grew embarrassed or angry? Or should she lend a hand to a friend in need? She found she couldn’t resist, and padded over to crouch beside him.

“Okay, Mister Ross,” she said, and taking his arm over her shoulder, lifted him to his feet. She was familiar with the delicate dance of tending to a drunken man. “Easy, sir. There, you’re on your feet now.”

“Yes, I should go up.” He took a step forward and stumbled a bit and caught her arm for balance. It took him a minute to focus but then he found her face and looked at her with brows knit. 

“You must be disappointed in me, Demelza,” he said to her.

“Must I?” she said wryly. “Maybe I’m disappointed you’re still drinkin’ cheap whisky. I thought the hops were doin’ well enough you could afford somethin’ finer,” she laughed. “Come on, then. I’ll help you up to bed.”

More fully awake now, he regained a bit of mobility and managed to make it up the stairs with only the slightest buttressing from her. Once he was in his room, he sat down on the bed with great effort, visibly relieved to feel the solid mattress under him. He started to roll over with his boots still on but she stopped him before his feet hit the duvet.

“No, no, Mister Ross. Let’s get those off you, shall we?” she said. She unlaced the heavy work boots and slipped them and his socks off one at a time. 

She was amused by this whole scene which hadn’t served to lower her esteem of him at all. If anything, to see him with his guard down, in need of her help, made him more human in her eyes. She also found it rewarding to show him some care since over the years he’d shown her so very much.

And she was relieved that, unlike her father, Ross wasn’t an angry drunk.

Ross’s eyes were closed now but he reached down and, by feel, unbuckled his belt and lowered his trousers. Now clad only in a t-shirt and boxer briefs he rolled back on his side.  

At this she snorted with laughter. 

“Mister Ross? Maybe you’d better use the loo before you go to sleep, you know how it is...”

He opened his eyes, seeming to weigh her suggestion, then apparently agreed as he rose again on his leaden legs and aimed his body towards the doorway. She kept a few paces behind him until they reached their destination down the hallway, then she listened outside to be sure he hit his mark. When he emerged again she put her arm under him again until she got him back to his bed.  

She pulled the curtains so no morning light would disturb him and tiptoed towards the door. Garrick, curled at the foot of the bed now, looked up to let her know he’d be keeping guard over their master tonight.

“Good night to you then!” she said to the dog. “It looks like Mister Ross needs you more than I do.” She paused to look at the dark man already sound asleep and was surprised to feel a swell of tenderness in her chest. “Night, Mister Ross. I’ll see Prudie don’t hassle you in the mornin’,” she whispered.

 

Chapter 11: Training Day

June 2015

“Damn it!” Ross muttered. Dripping sweat stung his eyes but he was powerless to wipe it away. Both hands were occupied at the moment, racing to train the hop bines up the trellis wires. 

Demelza was on the other side of the row, her nimble fingers wrapping the young bines around the strings, then fastening them in place. She’d picked up the technique quickly and now tied bines faster than any of them. Jim, on the other hand, seemed to need endless toilet breaks and even when he was focused, Demelza often had to redo his work. 

“See, Jim, this one’s too loose. As soon as it gets heavy from rain it will come right undone,” she explained. “No Jim, wrap them clockwise so they follow the sun durin’ the day,” she repeated.  

It had been raining incessantly for days and Ross was worried about what that might mean to the hops at this crucial stage of growth. He remained convinced that the ground in the hop yard drained well, so at least there was no fear of standing water rotting the roots. Today, however, was dry and exceptionally warm, so they were rushing while the sun shone to get as many bines trained as possible. Whatever was left after today would most likely have to be completed in the rain.

“Shit!” Jim muttered. He forever forgot how the tiny hairs along a bine could catch a bare hand that was run in the wrong direction. 

“Maybe you should wear gloves, Jim,” Ross grumbled.

Demelza laughed and shot Ross a conspiratorial glance. 

It was then Ross noticed the girl was wearing a long sleeved t-shirt. It seemed an odd choice for such a hot day but maybe she was trying to keep her fair skin covered from the direct rays of the sun. Still, she wasn’t protecting her face nor her bare legs. She had on her favourite shorts, which seemed a bit shorter after yet another growth spurt, and although it surely wasn’t her intention, they were greatly admired by Jim, who stared at Demelza’s long legs whenever he thought no one was watching.

Ross and Demelza continued their work at a furious pace, barely pausing to eat lunch. But shortly after two o’clock, the first rain drops could be felt. At first neither one of them said a thing, hoping they might delay the inevitable by simply ignoring it. Jim was the first to speak.

“Well it’s rainin’, guess we’re done then, aren’t we?” he said.

Ross looked up at the dark clouds forming. His inclination was to keep going, to push through, regardless of any downpour. But he saw that Demelza looked tired and knew they’d be back at it tomorrow anyway so perhaps it would be best to call it a day. Besides, there were plenty of indoor chores to attend to around the farm, rain or no rain, so they’d hardly be idle.

It was later, when he noticed Demelza hadn't pushed up her sleeves while rinsing out the goats’ water bucket, that Ross felt an alarm go off. Something wasn’t right here.

He recalled a time when Verity, as a teenager, would deliberately cut herself with a razor blade--on her arms and thighs mostly, places where she could hide her self-inflicted wounds from prying adult eyes. Only Ross had known her pain and her secret. Could this be what Demelza was up to?

“Demelza, I need to drive to Redruth--the tractor needs a new air filter. Come with me?” Ross turned off the tap and took the bucket from her, trying to sound casual. 

Demelza eyed him suspiciously, but whether or not she sensed ulterior motives, she didn’t let on. After grabbing her mobile from her room, she raced between raindrops to join him in the cab of the truck.

When they were alone, before he switched on the ignition, he turned to her.

“Demelza,” he said. “Show me your arms. Roll up your sleeves.” The firmness in his tone did not eclipse the concern that was also there. Rain beat on the roof and the bonnet of the truck filling the silence.

She must have known her secret had been found out and did as she was told without looking up. 

Her right forearm had a bruise in the telltale shape of fingers. Someone strong had grabbed her--and had held her. It had been weeks since she’d seen her father and even then it had been a brief visit, so this couldn't be Tom Carne’s doing. 

“Demelza, what in god’s name? Who…” Ross’s voice was low between a whisper and a growl.

“Nobody. I mean nobody that matters--no one you know. Just a guy from school.” It had been her mate Gemma’s brother in fact. It didn’t seem relevant to mention that friendship was now in peril as a result of this regrettable encounter.

“Demelza?”

“I made him mad. He wasn't happy I wouldn't...well…”

“What?” Ross asked.

She gave a quick shake of her head in disbelief and looked at him with narrowed eyes. Was he really going to make her say it?

“You know…” she said.

“You wouldn't have sex with him?” he said incredulously. That simply couldn’t be what she meant.

“Not full-on sex,” she mumbled. “Just for him...he wanted me to…”

“But you didn’t want to?” As uncomfortable as he’d grown, Ross knew to be careful, to coax the whole story out of her.

“Yes.”

“And did he force you to anyway?”

“No.”

“But still he grabbed you hard enough to leave a mark?”

“Yeah well, I may not have left a bruise on him but based on his screamin’ and moanin’ I’m pretty sure my knee hit the bullseye, if you know what I mean...” she said.

“So you fought back?”

“Course!”

Ross realised he'd still been holding her arm; gently he let it go and started the engine. The wipers squeaked, reminding him of all the broken things in his life he still hadn’t replaced.

“That’s pretty,” he said pointing to the pink and yellow weaving tied around her wrist. He thought it might be wise to change the subject if only for a few minutes. He had a lot to think about--suddenly his responsibilities towards this girl had just multiplied and he was terrified he’d soon be out of his depths. 

“It’s meant to be a friendship bracelet,” she said, fingering it lovingly, “Jinny Martin, a girl from school, made it for me. I probably shouldn’t wear it when tendin’ pig slop though.” 

The bracelet--small and simple--seemed to have some special value to her. Ross liked when she looked and acted like a bright teen not wiser old woman.

“Jinny Martin? I know her father,” he said.

“She’s older, Jim’s form--I mostly know her from the bus. Nice but...well I think she’s easily swayed by boys. It makes me sorta sad--like she doesn't have any opinions of her own.”

“Demelza...in school...what do they teach you about...about relationships?” he asked haltingly. It was poorly phrased--he didn't dare say the word ‘sex’. Still she knew what he meant.

“Oh yeah, they teach us about ‘healthy’ relationships--bein’ responsible, usin’ protection, gettin’ checked for infections…”

“Do they ever talk about consent?” he asked.

“Yeah but it’s mostly the girls who pay attention. I guess the stakes are higher for us,” she replied. “Mister Ross? I know I shouldn't have gotten in that guy’s car if I didn’t want to…”

“No, Demelza. You have a right to go anywhere and make any decision you want. You don’t owe a thing to anyone!”

As he drove on, Ross recalled his own clumsy teenaged self. Never would he force himself on someone but he had to admit, he’d often been inept at reading a girl’s pleasure. He shuddered at the thought of his over eager advances and the mediocre love making. 

At this pause in conversation, Demelza turned her attention to the truck’s stereo. She ejected the Nick Cave CD in the player, setting it aside with mild disdain, then switched on the radio, flipping through the settings rapid-fire until she came to a song she liked. It wasn’t one Ross knew but she raised the volume to hear it over the rain. 

“If I didn't have you, I'd never see the sun. You taught me how to be someone, yeah…” she sang with dramatic flare. Ross thought she had a nice voice.

“This is One Direction--do you like them, Mister Ross?” she asked.

“Can’t say that I do,” he answered truthfully. He knew if he played along now he’d get control of the music on the way back--that was their usual bargain.

Demelza looked out the wet window and continued her animated singing.

        “All my life, you stood by me

        When no one else was ever behind me…

        Nobody, nobody

        Nobody can drag me down...”

 

“See? It wasn’t that bad.” The song had ended and she was scrolling through her mobile laughing, looking for more songs she thought he should hear. “I know! I'll make you a playlist, Mister Ross!” 

Then all at once she went quiet, switching off the radio in great haste.

“Demelza…?” 

She seemed frozen with fear at something she saw on the pavement a few yards ahead. No, not something--someone.

“Fucking hell,” she mumbled.

“Demel...is that... him? Is that who hurt you?” Ross asked. Her silence told him what he needed to know. He pulled the truck over at once, splashing through a puddle, and without turning off the ignition, he exited from the driver’s side.

“Mister Ross! No!” Demelza shrieked but he couldn’t hear her. He was already several paces up the road, rain soaking his shirt, blood pounding in his ears. 

No conscious thoughts were registering in his brain. An automatic physical response--a soldier’s response--had taken hold of him. His arm muscles had gone taut and a fire in his gut spurred him onward toward the lanky young man--a boy, really--who leaned against the wet stuccoed wall, apparently not bothered by the rain.

“You!” Ross’s voice was not his own. 

“Wha? You talkin’ to me, geezer?” The boy started to laugh then was shocked by the strong hand grabbing him by the collar. He was lifted an inch from the ground and found himself staring into the dark, raging eyes of this stranger.

“Forcing yourself on a girl...you could find yourself in trouble with the police, you know!” Ross sputtered and slammed the kid against the wall. A raindrop splashed on his eyelashes, spilling into his eye, but he was powerless to wipe it away. Once again he found both his hands were occupied at the moment.

“Mister Ross!” He heard Demelza’s shouts and turned to look. When he saw she was in the driver’s seat and had pulled the truck level with the scene, Ross let go of the boy’s wet shirt in surprise. 

“Get in the car! Now!” she ordered.

Dumbstruck, he obeyed and climbed into the passenger seat.

Without looking at Ross or at the cowering figure slumped against the wall, Demelza drove off and exited at the next roundabout. She had no idea where she was going but thought it best to put some distance between them and the boy. 

With each breath, Ross felt his senses returning. His first thought was awe that Demelza knew how to drive, but of course she did. He’d needed her to take the truck around the farm from time to time--just never out on the road. Now she seemed to manage the gear lever and clutch easily.

“What the hell is wrong with you, Mister Ross?” Demelza was concentrating on the smeary windscreen and the slick road ahead of her but managed to spit the words out. “You’re a man--and an adult--you can’t go beatin’ on teenagers. You’re the one who is gonna get arrested, you know!”

“Pull over here, Demelza,” he said calmly. He wasn’t going to fight her on this.

Reluctantly she pulled the truck over in the empty road but before she moved to open her door, she gripped the steering wheel and hissed through her teeth. As she got back into the passenger seat, she slammed the door to signal she was still furious. 

For the remainder of the trip to Redruth and back, they didn’t exchange a single word. It was the first time Ross had seen her so enraged and certainly the first time she’d been so silent with him. If he’d been more reflective he would have noted it was the first time she’d ever been that angry with him.

Back at Nampara, Ross gave her a wide berth for the rest of the afternoon. She went straight to the stables and he returned to the tractor shed alone. And when she didn’t come to dinner, the others thought it odd--Demelza usually had the biggest appetite of all of them--but no one suspected her absence was due to a sulky temper.

But as the sun began to sink in the blood orange sky to the west, Ross resolved to have a word with her. He’d been wrong to offer such violence to the boy--he saw that--and had she not intervened, Ross might have actually harmed him. Still, she needed to understand that he had a duty to look out for her. It had always been an unspoken agreement, from the first day they met. She might be bigger and stronger than she had been three years ago, but dangers still lurked. In fact, regrettably, now there were new ones.

“I think we should talk about some limits,” Ross said bluntly upon entering her room. 

“Limits?” she repeated. She lay on her stomach across her unmade bed but looked up at him towering over her.

“I mean, like a curfew,“ he continued, trying to sound authoritative. “If you’re living here I don’t want you out all hours.”

“All hours?”

“You’re my responsibility and if something happens to you…” 

“Are you having this same talk with Jim?” she asked with a raised brow.

“Demelza, he’s older than you and…”

“And a bloke? Is that it? Weren't you just tellin’ me today I have a right to go anywhere and make any decision I want? But now I can't leave the farm?” she pushed back. 

“You can leave the farm, let’s just keep an eye on where you go or who you...” 

“Who I go out with? So out with the girls to the cinema is okay but not with a boy?”

“To the cinema is fine…” Ross shook his head in frustration. He’d never argued with a teenager before--at least not since he was one.

“Maybe I should go back home. At least my dad don't care wha…” she muttered.

“Doesn't care what happens to you? No, hurting you is his purview alone!”

“Mister Ross,” she said and was silent again.

“I know. That was...I shouldn’t have said that but…” he stammered.

“Just because it's true don’t make it less hurtful,” she said softly.

Suddenly he saw he’d been reading her wrong. No longer enraged, now she was sad. And the mood would continue to unravel fast if she wasn’t offered some sort of redirection, some warmth.

“I’m sorry Demelza,” he said and sat down on the edge of the bed uninvited. “I just want to find a way to help you and keep you safe. I don’t mean to be overprotective or unfair…”

“Listen, Mister Ross, if it’s boys you're worried about, I can promise you this. I’ll stay away from all the boys in Cornwall until I’m…” She was accepting his olive branch.

“Thirty?” he offered.

“And I’ll text you if I’m out late and always ring you directly if I’m in trouble.” She laughed and he smiled in return, happy to see the light return to her eyes.

He didn’t know what sort of skirmish they’d just had, but he sensed he’d been wise to retreat. And he wasn’t sure what this battle had meant exactly, but the outcome was clear to him. 

She’d won.

 

Notes:

When I work on this fic I get to research hops farming so then when I finish an update, as a reward, I get to drink a hopsy beer. Here’s some more on how to grow hops if you want to check my sources:

https://www.rogue.com/stories/farms/how-to-train-hops
https://www.starkbros.com/growing-guide/article/all-about-hops

Also not gonna lie--my music taste is a bit more in line with Ross’s than young Demelza’s. Drag Me Down lyrics © Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC, Universal Music Publishing Group, BMG Rights Management. True fans will find anachronism in the month the song was released in 2015. Here’s a link to those One Direction lads in case you need to be hit over the head of why Demelza would find them so meaningful.

https://genius.com/One-direction-drag-me-down-lyrics

Chapter 12: Proximal Comforts

July 2015

“Jim! Stop! Turn around and go forward again-- you aren’t even watchin’…” Demelza’s worried voice called out.

Ross arrived on the scene just in time to see Jim cavalierly maneuvering the tractor into its shed. He was in reverse, trying to back the thing in and Demelza was right--he wasn’t looking behind him. The tractor was moving at a sharp angle and if Jim didn't correct soon, he’d take out the flimsy partition between the machine bay and the storage room next to it.

“Jim!” Ross’s command boomed and startled the boy. But instead of stopping and straightening out, Jim pressed the accelerator and lurched on--backwards. Only then did he jerk to a halt but not before a piercing howl rose from the depths of the shed.

“What the devil…” Ross began, the hairs standing up on his neck.

“No! Oh no!” Demelza called and ran to investigate. But she was too late. The cat had already torn forward, through the yard and past them all. And even though the creature had been racing at full speed in the most heightened sense of animal panic, they all saw the bloody gash that extended the length of her side.

Demelza ran after but lost track within seconds.

“Mister Ross! What do we do? She needs our help!” she cried.

“And most likely it won’t accept it. Animals sense when they are mortally wounded--you should know that, Demelza. It has no doubt gone off somewhere to die alone,” Ross said.

“Die? Mister Ross! We can’t let her! Jim! Help me!” Now the girl was in a panic herself. She seemed to have instantly forgotten it was Jim who was responsible for the cat’s injuries, and in her desperation was begging him for help.

“Oh Dee! Fuck! C’mon, let’s go. Maybe it’s not too late and it isn’t that bad…” Eager to make amends, Jim quickly scurried past Ross to go with Demelza. The boy had taken one look at Ross’s face--white with fury and disgust--and was smart enough to stay away from him for the time being.

Hours later, when Ross entered the kitchen, he found Prudie sitting at the table trying to comfort the distraught girl. Demelza had her head buried in her arms and based on the strange muffled noises coming from her, Ross surmised she was crying.

“What’s this?” Ross said.

Prudie shot him a quick glance then patted Demelza’s back.

“Girl found the cat--dead in the hayloft. She just buried it,” Prudie said to Ross in a tone that may have been hushed in volume but not filtered for any sharpness.

“So all the distractions of the day are finally over and we can forget that we lost hours of work?” Ross quipped.

“‘Scuse me, Captain?” Prudie was on her feet.  

“We should be thankful it wasn’t Demelza that got crushed,” Ross muttered. He was tired of having the same conversations over and over about equipment safety on the farm. Actually he didn’t have to remind Demelza--she was always attentive and responsible, but Jim continued to make careless mistakes.

Demelza stood, puffy faced and bleary eyed, and saying nothing, slunk out the back door.

“You don’t need to be so black hearted, Captain Ross!” Prudie hissed and slammed a plate of what appeared to be an uninspired supper in front of him.

“I’m quite capable of chastising myself, Prudie, I don't need your help,” he said sourly. If Demelza’s distress meant the girl wouldn’t be helping with the cooking in the near future, then perhaps this whole unfortunate incident was suddenly taking on more gravity.

“Maybe you do, Captain,” Prudie said, not letting this go. Arms crossed, foot tapping, she was in a lather and eager to lash out. “Look around you for once. All the pain in that girl’s life but how often does she do that--break down and actually cry? Not just a few tears but a proper sob?!”

Only once before.

“You're right. I’ll go to her,” he said solemnly and pushed his plate away.

“Well, no use doin’ that. Jim’s comfortin’ her now,” Prudie snorted and finally left him alone.

That’s more appropriate, Ross thought. She should talk to someone her own age. Jim was almost two years older than Demelza--of course he was nowhere near as mature as she was--but he was at least more of a peer than Ross was. 

I’m not her friend. What am I? 

Ross rose and peeked out the kitchen window. Across the yard by the open barn door, Demelza stood, resting her head on Jim’s shoulder. 

How curious that she’s so quick to forgive Jim, Ross wondered.

Ross thought for a moment about the interactions he’d witnessed between Demelza and Jim lately. Would that be considered flirting? If so, neither was very adept at it. She often smiled and was friendly to most folks, but recently was she more so to Jim? She certainly was patient with him. And Jim had taken to following her around, chatting with her while she worked--while he was supposed to be working--laughing at her jokes, looking at her long legs in her short shorts. 

Yes, the way Jim was holding her now was more than an embrace between friends, Ross could see it. Jim’s head was bent close to hers and his hands were low on her back, meandering down past her waistline.

How long has this been going on under my own roof? And more importantly--is this really any of my business?

Over the next few days Ross vowed to be more observant and indeed saw growing evidence of a connection between his two teenaged employees. They seemed to always be laughing, but now it wasn’t just Jim laughing at Demelza; for some untold reason she found amusement in him as well. That was a change. When they weren’t working, the two seemed to be content to sit for hours, their shoulders pressed close as they showed each other pictures and videos from their mobiles. On Wednesday evening they took their suppers outside and ate together at the table in the yard leaving Ross and Prudie in the kitchen. 

If Ross were honest with himself, he would have admitted he was missing Demelza’s bright presence about the house, since her focus seemed elsewhere. The dinner he ate alone with Prudie was among the dullest he’d experienced in months. At the same time, Ross had always worried that Demelza kept too many of her troubles bottled up, so he was pleased she had a close companion and hoped she might begin to confide in Jim.

Still, Ross was caught off completely off guard that Friday evening. Exhausted, he’d stumbled up the stairs to his now-familiar room above the barn, eager to clean up and put the grime and frustrations of the day behind him. But when he stepped back into the hallway after his shower, he heard distinct and not particularly welcome sounds coming through the wall from Jim’s room--sounds of a rhythmically squeaking bed.

And just as quickly as it started, it ended. Ross stifled the laugh that swelled from his throat and tried to escape quietly without being overheard.

He was still in the hallway when he heard the low murmurs of Jim and Demelza’s voices, followed by another curious noise. He stopped to listen; it was more of an animalistic purr than an outright moan. Whatever was happening behind that door now was apparently pleasing to Demelza--and under her control.

Ross retreated to his room to dress but even there he was unable to escape the din of his neighbours in their intimate escapades.

“Whoa! Dee, I can’t believe you just did that, in front of me--that was so hot!” Jim’s astonished voice leaked through the thin walls.

Ross could contain his chuckle no longer and only hoped it wouldn’t be heard by Jim. The boy was just so damned predictable! Ross quickly put his boots on to go back out, and purposely--perhaps even cruelly--closed his door with a firm slam to let the others know he’d been there. 

---

Once outside, Ross first stopped at his truck and fished out the packet of cigarettes hidden in the glove box. There were four left--his emergency stash. It was a habit he developed in the army but he really hadn’t smoked regularly since he returned to Cornwall. Only when he had problems to work out in his head, things that ran in circles and needed to be sorted--like now--would he break down.

Ross sat on an old tire away from the barn and downwind of the house, so no one would detect the smoke once he lit up. He took a deep inhale and laid all the facts before him.

Yes, he’d need to talk to them both. But he resolved to start with Demelza for he knew whatever he said to her, she’d listen.

From where Ross sat he couldn’t see the light turn on in the window that overlooked the front yard. Demelza had already returned to her room to do some thinking of her own.

 

---

That Sunday afternoon Ross found Demelza alone in the stable with Adele. The girl hadn’t noticed him coming up behind her so when she turned to find him just feet from her, she jumped.

“Fucking hell! she cried, her arms in the air. “Oh it’s you, Mister Ross!” The horse in her nearby stall curled her upper lip and flicked her ears back and forth. She too did not appreciate Ross’s sudden appearance.

Who was she expecting to creep up behind her?

“Sorry to startle you. Thought you might be missing this,” he said, holding out the pink tea flask Prudie had given her for her sixteenth birthday. He’d discovered it sitting on the bonnet of his truck in the yard--abandoned by a distracted mind.

“Oh yeah,” she absently. “I was wonderin’ where I’d left that. And it’s still warm. Thanks, Mister Ross.”

“Demelza, I’m going out to check the fence at northeast meadow. I’ve had reports that the Bodrugan hounds have been coming around and I can only think that’s the most likely place of entry,” Ross began. “Ride out with me--on the horse, I mean. That is, if you don’t think it’s too much weight... I know you’re not the little girl you used to be.”

Without saying a word, she put down her untouched tea and began to saddle the horse.

But she looked at Ross curiously, as though she could tell he had other motives. Still she didn’t object. He knew she wouldn’t.

Am I that transparent? That predictable? he thought.

There really was no way to get comfortable when riding two on a horse--they were reminded of this minutes in. Ross hated that he had to rely more on the reins to communicate with Adele than through weight shifts or his own legs. From previous rides, he remembered how it was hard for the girl to give up control, which she had to do while riding behind him. He also worried that despite her determined grip, she might fall.

Demelza didn't complain but Ross heard small grunts and gasps as she wiggled in her seat. She was trying to subtly reposition herself while keeping her arms wrapped around Ross. He slowed Adele down to a walk which seemed to help.

“Do you want me to get down then you can ride alone?” he asked.

“No, I’m fine as long as Adele don’t think I’m squashin’ her kidneys. I sorta like it. Feels familiar, comfortin’ even--though it’s not really…” she laughed.

They continued on to the the far fence. The last time they’d ridden out there together on one horse was two years ago, in search of an errant young goat. Now little Marizpan was grown up, with kids of her own. 

So much has happened in those years and so fast. Yet Ross also felt as though, for him alone, time dragged.

“So you think the Bodrugan hounds have been comin' through here?” she asked. “Why do they?”

“Because they can--dogs like to wander. I just don’t want them getting into any trouble on our land that the neighbours will then hold us liable for…” Ross grumbled, annoyed that the same spot of fence had been compromised yet again.

Must my life run run in circles?

But examining this breach had only been a pretense for getting the girl alone. Ross had deliberately waited until they’d dismounted before he spoke, even though he knew it would be hard to look her in the face. And yet for such a conversation it was the right thing to do.

“So are you and Jim are now…” he began.

“Sleepin’ together?” she offered.

He was going to say ‘dating’ but at least was glad she didn't used the term ‘shagging.’

“It’s only been the once,” she added.

“And you’ve taken...precautions?” He tried his best not to sound judgmental but suspected he’d already failed on that score.

“Yes, I told you we learn about that in school,” she said.

“It’s not just your responsibility,” he said after a minute.

“Oh I know. Jim was ready though. Tell me Mister Ross do all guys carry condoms ‘round with them at all times?”

Ross sheepishly thought of the condoms in the glove box of his own car. They’d been there a while, he’d need to check they hadn’t expired. The last time he used any was during a rather unsatisfying meeting in Truro with a woman named Margaret. At least they’d gone up to her flat and not had sex in the car. That would have made the already shameful scenario too sordid even for his taste.

Good god, might Demelza have spotted the condoms in the car? He hoped not, then he had another flash of panic. Has she seen the cigarettes?

“No but maybe they should,” he answered her question.

“Mister Ross, can I ask you somethin’?”

He knew she was going to ask it regardless of his answer. 

“Is the first time... is it always so...so quick?”

He was expecting her to say uncomfortable--or worse--painful, so he laughed in great relief then saw she was asking him in earnestness.

“Are you disappointed?” he asked.

“No, not really. But does it gets better?”

“Yes, but it depends on the partner. Demelza, do you ask this many questions in school?”

But you know, a thirst for knowledge isn’t a bad thing, Demelza-- hadn’t he used those words with her in the past while walking this very meadow?

“No, I’m askin’ you, Mister Ross, because I know you’ll answer me.”  

“Are there not not some questions better asked of a woman?” he replied.

But who else can she talk to, you fool? Certainly not Prudie. The housekeeper remained fiercely overprotective. Ross suspected Prudie might take a page from Tom Carne’s book and wallop Demelza if she knew what the girl and Jim had been up to. She’d certainly give Jim a sound thrashing--if not worse.

“You mean a woman could give me advice ‘bout how to make it feel good--better, I mean? Isn’t that a man’s job too though? To make it feel good?” Demelza persisted.

“One would think.” Ross was surprised and perhaps admired her determined self-advocacy here.

“It’s just different than when...I mean, I know how to do it when I’m alone,” she said matter of factly.  

Ross tried not to choke when he realised what she was referring to. 

“Is that somethin’ a bloke wouldn't want to see? Jim acted surprised when I finished things off myself.”

Ross had been caught off guard by the direction this conversation had taken--he’d meant to be detached, clinical, and it suddenly had grown rather intimately detailed. He felt a flicker of honour that she was trusting enough to speak so freely, so despite his unease, he felt compelled to answer her honestly all the same.

“No, I think you’ll find most men like to watch their partners pleasure themselves,” he managed to say.

“Really? Huh…”

“But you know condoms aren’t failsafe. If you are going to be sexually active you should think about further precautions,” he added.

“You mean pills?”

“Yes, along with condoms, of course. I can take you to the clinic if you’d like…” he offered.

“They’ll think you’re my dad,” she teased.

No, they’ll think I’m your pimp or some old pervert taking advantage of you.

“You won’t tell my dad will you?” she asked, wide-eyed.

“Of course not, but I suspect he wouldn’t be happy.”

“No, he already calls me a slag, has for years. But I’m lucky he doesn't think much about me at all, I suppose.”

“Do you like Jim?” Ross thought to ask.

“Well...Jim’s sweet to me and really sorta funny. I know you think he’s an idiot,” she laughed.

“I do not,” he protested.

“Yes you do.” She paused and thought some more on the question. “He really likes me. That feels nice--to be liked and appreciated.”

“Demelza, I’m sorry about the cat,” Ross said softly. “And I’m sorry that I didn't show more care--in the moment of your distress.”

“I’m sorry too. She was your cat, after all, Mister Ross,” she replied. “No one should have to suffer and no one should suffer alone.”

 

Notes:

Readers might recognize the line "Must my life run run in circles?" from Winston Graham's The Angry Tide.

Chapter 13: Melt With You

August 2015

“Demelza, you havin’ some?” 

Demelza’s eyes were closed. She was enjoying the gentle sway of the sea as the boat bobbed up and down in the quiet cove. The brilliant August sun hadn’t yet sunk below the horizon but no matter where she positioned herself, it seemed to shine directly into her eyes.

She looked up to the arm outstretched; Jinny Martin was offering her the bottle. Demelza liked wine more than any other drink she’d tried--and she’d not tried many--but somehow she felt it wasn’t quite proper to sip it straight from a shared bottle. Also on such a glorious warm night, she thought she might prefer a white wine to a red.

And when did you become such a drinks expert? she chided herself and took a gulp as penance for her moment of snobbery. If it was possible, the wine was both too sweet and too sour--not quite vinegar but almost.

“Thanks, Jinny,” Demelza said. She passed the bottle round, then gripped the gunwale and leaned back, trying to once again avert her eyes from the sun. It was no use.

“I can turn the motor on again then we could go farther out...” Charlie offered.

“No!” Demelza said quickly. “I mean, this is really nice and no one will bother us here,” she added in a more friendly tone. 

She had her reservations about Charlie piloting his father’s fishing boat to begin with. He’d been drinking and smoking weed all afternoon, and while his outer demeanor and speech didn’t seem to change no matter what he consumed, surely he must have lost some faculties by now. In the back of her mind she thought they’d better head back to land before the sun eventually set, since the boat wasn’t fitted with any lights nor did Charlie appear to even have a torch. But in the distance, on the sandy beach, she could see the bonfire the others had gotten going, and she knew that as long as they stayed where they were now, they’d be relatively safe. Even if the small boat capsized, she was pretty sure she could at least swim a straight line towards the shore.

Charlie Kempthorne was a local bloke, a friend of Jim’s, but not from school, and older than the rest of them. Demelza didn’t really know him and wasn’t sure she wanted to. There was something about his eyes she didn’t quite trust. Of course this evening those eyes were also pink and hidden behind sunglasses--but even his gestures seemed jerky, insincere. She just had an instinct about him.

Most of the time Demelza liked to hang out with the local kids she’d met through Jim. It wasn’t that she felt she belonged with them more than with her mates at school--on the contrary, she had very little in common with any of them, even Jim. But they were such a hodgepodge of characters, all thrown together due to physical proximity and not because of any real shared interests. And because they were all so different from one another, they seemed rather accepting--at least of her. Or maybe they were really just indifferent, shallow even, only focused on the here and now. Who could get a bottle of something, who could get a car--or a boat in tonight’s case--how could they have some fun.

None of those things mattered to her.

I’m not one of them. But I’m not really like the kids at school either, she’d thought. She didn’t fit anywhere. How could she? She couldn’t explain her world to anyone--what she knew, what she felt, what she’d seen. She’d never be able to find words for it and even if she did, no one would understand. No one.

She felt Jim’s hand on her back. First a half-hearted rub, then clumsily he crept under her jumper, under her t-shirt. She knew what he’d do next--artlessly snake around to finger her breast under her bra. He always went right for her nipple. It was never a caress. How it felt to her never crossed his mind, no matter how she tried to coach him.

She leaned forward and took the bottle from Jinny again and this time, held it in her lap after she had a drink. She wasn’t listening to what the others were talking about but smiled as the breeze tossed her hair away from her face.

The sun was lower now, a shimmering gilt spectacle spilling over the water. It dazzled Demelza’s eyes but this time she didn’t look away. She imagined diving into the liquid gold and coming out covered in precious scales, like a dragon or mythical bird.

It would have made a brilliant photograph but, wisely perhaps, she’d left her mobile on the dry beach. She’d just have to remember this, remember the way she felt looking at such a sunset. How was it such beauty had crept up on them tonight? Was it hers alone or could the others see it too?

She laughed aloud, not to her mates in the boat, but to the gulls, to the wind, to herself. 

I want to move, she thought, I want to go somewhere in this boat or drive fast in a car or even fly. I want to go anywhere and leave this world behind. And yet how can it be I also just want to be right here--still--forever?

First she passed the bottle back to Jinny then she slipped off her flip flops and pulled her jumper over her head. She didn’t see Jim looking at her, assuming her disrobing had been meant for him naturally. In one swift move, so as not to upset the boat, she hoisted herself up to the edge then crossed her arms and allowed herself to fall backwards, like a scuba diver.

The water was cold but not as cold as she’d expected. She surfaced and popped her head up to let the others know she was all right.

“Demelza! What are you doin’?” Jim called, half amazed and half annoyed.

“Swimmin’!” she called. How could she explain that she wanted to bathe in the sun’s last light as it melted into the sea, to follow the rays until they’d disappeared forever?

What was that old song Prudie liked to sing? ‘I’ll stop the world and melt with you…’

“Great idea, Demelza!” Jinny shrieked. Not minding the boat at all, she stood up, wobbling the whole time, and took off her top, then her bra. She turned to the boys and gave one more laugh before she plunged into the water. As she pushed off with her feet, the boat lurched and almost tipped entirely, sending Charlie and Jim to quickly shift their own weight to right the balance.

Did she take her top off because she wanted to or did she do it to be looked at? The thought flashed through Demelza’s mind as Jinny stripped. 

Even from five meters away, Demelza had noticed Jim’s eyes linger on Jinny’s bare body. Her breasts were brown from the sun--she must have done a fair bit of topless sunbathing--and rounder than Demelza’s.

Am I supposed to be jealous that he looked at her like that? But I don’t I care--that’s between him and her really. I looked at her breasts too, didn’t I?

“Whoo hoo!” Jinny cried and splashed over to Demelza. 

At first Demelza liked the company but soon regretted that the other girl’s shadow interrupted the dancing light on the water. She ducked under again and glided away like a seal, trying to put the others behind her. This time when she surfaced she was back in the path of the sunset.

Again, the satisfaction of just being there, alone in that moment, was almost enough to counter the constant drive she normally felt--a need to move, to seek, to go. Is this what it felt like to want nothing? Maybe she could just fade away, dissolve into the waves.

But after a few minutes the restlessness returned and she started taking longer strokes, this time towards the shore. 

“Help me back up, ya tossers!” Jinny’s laugh rang in the distance, presumably trying to get back in the boat. Demelza hadn’t meant to leave Jinny in her wake--or had she? Now as she swam steadily towards the beacon on the beach, the sound of the motor starting up was audible behind her. But it remained a light purr. If they were truly racing, Charlie could have easily overcome her. He must be holding back.

Demelza was closer to land now. Her next thought was that she was hungry; she hoped someone at the bonfire might have something to eat.

Finally she felt the rocks and sand underfoot and stood up. With slow purposeful strides she emerged from the sea, feeling triumphant--half mermaid, half Poseidon. Or maybe she was a powerful serpent. Splashes and shouting continued behind her as the others clambered off the boat, then struggled to pull it ashore. Still Demelza walked on, without looking back to them.

“You alright?” Paul Daniel put a hand to Demelza’s shoulder as she plopped herself down next to the fire. She tried not to shiver--she really didn’t feel cold--but under her dripping clothes her body was acting on its own.

“Never better,” she said with a laugh, and accepted the blanket Paul wrapped around her shoulders. 

A kind gesture, she thought. Would I ever think to say that to someone else? Asking after others--that’s what mature people do, isn’t it? She must be stunted; she still only thought of herself.

“Dee, you’re mental, you know that?” Jim handed over the jumper she’d abandoned in the boat, then squeezed between her and Paul. His arm closed around her. 

Demelza had noticed Jim’s eyes moments before when Paul put his hand and the blanket on her. A flash of jealousy for sure but maybe he was even angry--or at least contemplating it? She hadn't cared when Jim ogled Jinny’s breasts, and at least Paul had only touched her arm. Didn’t Jim see his hypocrisy? Paul was showing care, which it never occurred to Jim to show.

Does Jim think I’m a possession? She’d read and heard about men who thought that way, but had never seen it play out in real life. Was it playing out now on her? Then again she’d had so little experience observing real relationships, even fewer healthy ones. At the thought that Jim might consider her a belonging, she felt something move under her skin--and it wasn’t pleasant. Better to push it out of her mind. She knew how to do that. 

Better to think of just minutes before when she was floating in the sea. When she couldn’t decide if she was content beyond all measure or vibrating with the unquenchable longing to swim past the horizon and explore the world and all her desires.

Sparks spiraled upward from the blaze and were carried in the breeze like dancing fireflies. Demelza stared back at the fire’s center then closed her eyes. She knew what she wanted now--and it wasn’t this.

“Thanks, mate,” she said, and passed the blanket back to Paul, then grabbed the jumper and her rucksack and rose to her feet. Jim had already gotten his hands on a can of lager and would be easily consoled.

“Demelza! Where you goin’?” Jinny called, but Demelza only waved over her shoulder, and without turning around, continued her march up the sandy dunes. Jinny’s friendship bracelet, once bright but now dingy and sodden, irritated Demelza’s skin.

She hated to leave the brilliant sunset behind her but she wouldn’t look back.

---

By the time Demelza made it to the back door of Nampara, she was no longer dripping but still more than just damp. Prudie would not be happy if she got the floor wet but Demelza thought it might be possible to grab something to eat quickly before returning to her room.

It was mid August--peak holiday time--so they had a family from France occupying the house for the week. But this time, the kitchen was to remain a common room. Ross felt the extra space might just be appreciated by the permanent Nampara residents and he’d been right. Not having to hide in their holes like scampering mice relieved some of the tension of having strangers amongst them.

“Demelza! What in god’s name…” Ross laughed as she slipped through the door, barefoot and wet.

“Oh Mister Ross, didn’t expect to see you here,” she said softly, then grabbed a tea towel and tried drying herself off just a bit. At this clumsy attempt, Ross’s deep chuckle grew louder. She was pleased he was amused and not cross at her impulsive swim.

“It was really brilliant tonight,” she smiled and started tiptoeing around the kitchen, her bare feet squeaking on the flagstone.

“But you’re home early?’ he questioned.

“Oh am I? I had my fun and then got tired...you know how it is,” she said breezily then looked up at him. “Are you alright? You look knackered.”

Although still weeks from harvest time, the hopyard remained demanding. At 20 feet, the bines were near their full height, and growing heavy on the extensive network of trellises. Earlier in the summer Ross’d been worried about too much rain, now he was worried about too little. It was tricky business--one wanted to keep the rows irrigated but the cones needed to dry out in order to be harvested. Recently Ross had talked about engaging some temporary labourers when Demelza and Jim returned to school.

“I am but I’m also famished. I was about to make myself a sandwich. Would you like one?” Ross asked but she had already gotten out the cheddar and was now slicing a tomato for him.

“You should really change, you’re soaked,” he observed.

“I will in a minute.”

He didn't accept her resistance and took one of his flannel work shirts that was hanging on a peg by the door, wrapping it around her shoulders.

“Oh thanks,” she said, then sniffed the collar.  “Mister Ross, you been smokin’?”

“Never mind that. I don’t ask what you‘ve been up to, Demelza. Surely you can extend me the same courtesy,” he said.

“Well you already know I’ve been swimmin’,” she laughed.

“And that’s all?” He raised a brow.

“You shouldn’t have let Jim an’ me off this afternoon,” she said. “If there’s that much to be done.”

“I’ll have the extra help soon enough and you deserve to be teenagers every once and awhile,” he said. “As long as you enjoyed it…” he added with an inquisitive tone.

“I told you I did,” she replied simply and said no more until she put a plate with three sandwiches in the middle of the table. “I’ll be up at the usual time tomorrow to help though.” She sat down across from him then laughed lightly to herself before she grabbed one up and took a bite. 

“And Jim?” he asked, reading her thoughts.

“Can’t say what shape he’ll be in.”

“Then let’s be sure to wake him early,” Ross said with a wink.

Chapter 14: Trust & Betrayal: Part I

October 2015

“Captain Ross!” Prudie called out from the hallway. 

“Wha..?” Ross muttered sleepily. He’d been reading by the fire, but clearly must have dozed off some time ago. Though not even in his late twenties, Ross found by evening time he was as exhausted as a man in his middle years. It wasn’t the physical labour but the emotional burdens--loneliness, guilt, worry, sadness--that wore him down. But of late, he was also rather distracted, thrown off guard by troubling developments with Carnmore Brewery, ones that could very well threaten Ross’s livelihood by default.

Ross knew there had been tension between Richard Tonkin and John Trevaunance for some months but hadn’t been privy to the cause. It was only recently that Tonkin had confided in him--Trevaunance had acquired significant gambling debts and now, in order to liquidate his assets, wanted out of his half of the Carnmore partnership. Tonkin understood his partner’s dilemma and tried to be sympathetic but bristled when he learned Trevaunance had already lined up a would-be investor willing to take over his share in the brewery--George Warleggan.

“Can’t trust that man. I’d sooner partner with Sir Philip Green!” Tonkin sneered. For Tonkin, brewing had always been a labour of love, never about the business end but all about the creative magic. He wisely saw that Warleggan would put Carnmore in fetters. Pursuit of profit would be the new mandate, with no regard for innovation, taste, or craftsmanship--and certainly none for supporting locally sourced ingredients like Nampara hops. “We’ll be sold off to a bigger enterprise within a year, mark my words. I’ve seen it happen dozens of time whenever a craft brewery establishes a name for itself.”

“What will you do?” Ross had asked. He half feared Tonkin was about to ask him to invest in the venture. Ross would hate to have to let him down but with his own bleak financial situation, as much as he wished he could help, it simply wasn’t an option any time soon.

“I’m doing everything I can-- everything--to scrape together enough to buy John out myself. I’m nearly there, even if it’s risky,” Tonkin replied tugging his glossy beard in distress. “It was my wife’s idea to mortgage the house. She said she’d rather live in a van than see our brewery go to that capitalist poodle.” 

“You are fortunate, Richard, to have such an understanding woman,” Ross assured him. He knew this was a troubling time for Tonkin but also wondered what it would feel like to have that sort of unwavering, non-negotiable support in his life. Or to give it in return.

“Captain Ross!” Prudie repeated and this time peered into the parlour to make sure she’d been heard. “There’s a taxi in the yard what needs his fare paid!” 

Ross hadn’t heard the car pull up nor his housekeeper answer the knock at the door. Now she was clearing her throat and sighing loudly to signal her annoyance at having been roused.

“Twenty quid from Perranporth.”

“Who…?” he began to ask.

“The girl come back from the dance in a taxi.”

“Demelza?” He looked at his watch. It was just barely ten so if she’d come back, it was early. And without Jim. Something must be amiss.

A car horn sounded from outside.

“He’s waitin’,” Prudie said, tapping her bulgy slipper impatiently, anxious to get back to her room.

“Yes, yes. I’m coming,” Ross growled and rose to his feet. 

Years ago, when Demelza had first come to work for him, Ross had told her that if she ever found herself in a situation overtly dangerous or even just vaguely uncomfortable, any time of day or night, she could get a taxi to Nampara Farm and he’d pay the fare. And in three years she’d never taken him up on the offer before.  

This didn't sit well with him. He felt his arms tense and a regrettably familiar anger begin to boil in his belly.  

If someone has hurt her again…

“Where is she now?” Ross asked Prudie, after he returned from paying the driver. But before she answered, he looked out the open door and saw for himself. A light had come on across the yard in the room above the barn.

“Did she say anything?”

“No. She wouldn’t say a word. But Captain...we’ve so rarely seen her cry before, you know,” Prudie added. 

Yes, they could count that on one hand, couldn’t they? 

Prudie may have been moved by Demelza’s tears, but once she saw Ross was awake and able to sort it, she seemed to suspend her own concern. She turned and shuffled back down the hall to her room where the blue light of the telly beckoned.

Ross doubted Demelza would want to see him but he’d at least try. He wouldn't be satisfied unless he made sure she was all right and he had more information about just what had happened to upset her in the first place. 

She’d been so looking forward to this dance for weeks and had gone to great lengths to seek out the right dress, the right hairstyle, the right makeup. It was the first time, as far as Ross knew, that she’d ever really dressed up.

She’d almost not gone at all, even after she and Jim had made elaborate plans to go together. She had a special dress picked out from a shop in Perranporth that she’d been putting money away towards. But then her father sprang a bill on Demelza for her younger brothers’ uniforms and school dinners, knowing she’d of course pay it herself rather than see them go hungry or ill clothed, and that had almost wiped out her savings. Tom Carne largely let his daughter live her own life and stay on at Nampara without interfering. He had one less mouth to feed that way though he did on occasion seem to miss having her labour at his disposal. So every now and then he’d come crashing back into her life, just to upset her plans and any sense of stability she’d managed to create for herself. This was one of those times.

“Well, that's it then. I won’t be goin’,” Demelza had declared one day. “I’ll have to find a way to let Jim know. He’ll be jumpin’ since he’s already paid for his suit.”

“We could find you another dress, borrow one from someone we know maybe?” Prudie offered.

“No, Prudie,” Demelza said gently, appreciative of the suggestion but still feeling hopeless. “Not that I wouldn’t be grateful for such a favour but this was supposed to be special. I'd just be reminded of what I almost had and why I lost it--I’m not sure I could bear it. I think I’m better off givin’ it all up. What was I thinkin’?” She went back out to the stable to shovel manure.

Demelza’s disappointment must have tugged at the housekeeper’s heart strings, for Prudie was near tears herself when she told Ross the story later.

“He’s back at it again, Captain Ross. Tom Carne, the worthless tuss is stealin’ her money and schemin’ to get her home again. For what purpose, I can only imagine!”

“I had thought those days were behind us,” Ross said. “I pay her directly and she keeps her account at Lloyds in Redruth so he can’t steal her wages for drink.” 

How is Tom Carne managing this? Why can’t he just leave her and her dreams alone? It was starting to feel much like the girl’s trip to Spain years before that her father had tried to thwart. But this time Ross wouldn’t hesitate to step in. He was more and more willing to take on Tom Carne or anyone who upset Demelza. He’d had enough.  

Ross sensed Demelza’s despair was not really about that dress but about wanting to feel as though she had some control over her life. He remembered that feeling from his younger days. He still wished for it, in fact. 

When Ross brought home the dress later that week it was only Demelza who was surprised.

“Demelza, this is from Prudie and me,” he said, laying it in her hands. It was partially true, although Prudie had contributed very little. “It’s a gift--you needn’t pay us back. We knew you were looking forward to the dance and we know how you had been working hard to buy this dress.”

“Mister Ross! I can’t...what made you...oh...thank you!” she said, and flew into his arms to give him a hug, then pulled back when she realised she was crushing the dress between them. “It’s just so lovely!” she gasped and held it up to her. Her wide eyes were shining and her mouth, which had been gaping open in amazement, transformed into a charming smile.

It was a simple design--fitted, black, strapless, knee length to show off her long legs. Ross had a hard time believing the woman in the shop who assured him that indeed that one had been Demelza’s choice. He had expected she’d want something fancier and fussier and found himself impressed by her taste. There was no arguing--the dress was elegant...and adult. 

The Saturday of the dance Demelza had finished her chores early to allow ample time to get ready. Even Prudie had to acknowledge the results were impressive and didn't give her a hard time about her exposed shoulders or plunging neckline. Demelza looked sophisticated but also so happy. When she left later that evening with Jim Carter, whose idea of dressing up included a slick skinny suit and no end of hair gel, Ross thought it didn't look as though the two were going to the same event. Demelza seemed to belong to another world--not with Jim.  

Apparently Ross had been right.

Now in the quiet of the night, Ross knocked softly on her door. As he expected, there was no answer.

“Demelza?” he called out. His voice was gentle.

“You can come in,” she said. She sounded tired.

He entered tentatively, Garrick at his side. The dog bounded towards his mistress on the bed and insistently nosed at her hand; her unusually manicured fingers scratched absently at his dark, shaggy head. The room was largely in shadow for only the small lamp on the bedside table had been switched on. She’d kicked off the black heels--he suspected in fury--as they were now on opposite sides of the room.  

Watching her practice walking in the shoes had been humorous for them all. And it had been Demelza herself who’d laughed hardest, as she threw her arms out to try to steady her slender body while she wobbled. She’d usually only make it a few strides before she’d erupt in a storm of curses and giggles.  

“How do ladies do this everyday? And bloody hell, these shoes hurt!” Around the farm, she mostly wore flip flops and wellies so her feet were not used to being so constrained. But like most things Demelza set her mind to, she learned fast. Once she determined how to bounce at the knee and use her inner thigh muscles for balance, she got the hang of the shoes and began to strut around the kitchen as though on a runway.

“You’ll be taller than Jim if you wear those, you know,” Prudie had reminded her.

“Well he’ll just have to bear it, won’t he?” Demelza had said with a smile--nothing was going to deflate her joy.

It was one of those moments when Ross realised just how much she’d grown. She had been such a little thing when he first met her, a strong breeze could have lifted her away. Now, even though she was still slight in her frame, she stood tall almost five seven. And in the heels she was almost as tall as he was. Ross felt an odd sort of pride at this, as though he played some part in her thriving health.

But tonight, she seemed small again, as she sat on the bed. She still didn’t turn to face him as she took out her earrings and started to unpin her hair. The graceful updo she’d been so happy with came down and her long neck and exposed shoulders were once again hidden behind the curtain of strawberry blonde curls. Piece by piece, the elegant appearance was dismantled and the girl resumed her old familiar form.

“Demelza?” Ross said again.

She said nothing but stopped what she was doing and let out a long exhale.

“Thank you for takin’ care of the taxi. I’ll pay you back, you know.”

“No need. We made that bargain long ago. Can you tell me what happened? Did...did someone hurt you?”

She turned and looked at him and he saw a look in her eyes he recognised from a wet evening three years earlier--fear, contempt, anguish.

“Yes, Mister Ross. Someone hurt me but not in a way that you can right with your fists, if that’s what you’re thinkin’. And this can’t be fixed by anyone, not even you.”

He saw now that he had misread her yet again. It wasn't anger---it was crushing embarrassment and hurt that was apparent on her weary face. The waterproof mascara she’d applied earlier had held up so, despite the tears, her makeup was largely intact.

“Demelza?” he tried again. “Do you want to tell me about it?” He sat down on the corner of the bed opposite her.

“Oh, Mister Ross, I just can’t believe he’d do that to me. Not tonight!” she began.

“Jim?”

“Yes, he was snoggin’ Jinny Martin at the dance. And seriously, maybe they were doin’ more than that, knowin’ his busy hands and his... “ she stopped and for once censored herself before she got too graphic about Jim’s teenage sex drive. “They weren’t even tryin’ to hide it. Why couldn’t he just be honest with me?”

“Jim’s an idiot,” Ross said and realised this was not much of a comfort. How did one console a young girl whose heart was broken for the first time?

“And so you came straight home?” he asked.

“The other girls were actin’ strange with me all night…”

“No doubt they were jealous,” he said. She waved that away in disbelief.

“I thought about findin’ another boy and... well, gettin’ revenge that way but it wasn't what I wanted.”

What would he have done? Something self destructive no doubt. At least she’d shown more sense.

“This whole dance...what a waste of time and money and effort! It was all dreams, Mister Ross. Dressin’ up and pretendin’ to be somethin’ we’re not. I thought if I could do it for one day, just one day, it would make me happy. But it left me feelin’ empty. Just to be looked at and admired?  What’s the point of that? I want to live my real life, and feed the baby goats with their bottles, crush the ripe hops ‘tween my fingers, and feel the soft grass on my bare feet. I don't want to fuss with my hair or wear these ridiculous shoes...or any of that. Ever. I’m sorry I wasted your money...” she said solemnly.

“It wasn't a waste. You deserved the experience even if, in the end, it wasn't what you wanted, Demelza. Sometimes the things that drive us are not in themselves satisfying,” he said.

“Things are never as good in reality as in yer dreams,” she said, “so I suppose it’s probably best to stop dreamin’.”

“Whether that has been the case for me or not, I’m not sure. But I will say you are far too young to be that jaded and I’d rather you didn't give up on your dreams, quite yet, Demelza.” He tried to sound encouraging but was afraid it came out stern, didactic. 

“You know somethin’ funny? I don’t even care about losin’ Jim to Jinny. I mean we had fun together but I didn’t love him. And if he doesn't like me, then I don't want him. I just wish he had the decency to think about my time and my feelin’s. Tonight I mean.”

“You are a smart girl to possess such a sense of self worth. And you are right, Jim was a twat. Sadly many boys are like that. I know I was…” 

“You?” she asked in disbelief. “But you eventually did learn to take someone else's heart into account, I know you did--when did that happen? Do you have to be a grown man to understand it’s important to think about other people? ‘Cause if so, I’m done with boys until I’m thirty! And this time I mean it.” 

With this last oath, the vibrant girl Ross knew was back. She seemed to have worked through her anger, and any tears were now gone. He had always been amazed at how resilient she was--of course she’d learned the necessity of that at a young age.

“Are you hungry? I can ask Prudie to fix you something to eat?”

“No you couldn't. She’s passed out in front of Teleshopping by now,” she laughed. “But can you help me with this zipper? I can't quite reach it.” She had fumbled over her shoulder trying to reach the fastening on the back of the dress. She rose and stood before him and he reached up gave it a gentle tug about six inches until the zipper was within her grasp. Then he rose and gave her a quick kiss on the head and a pat on her bare shoulder. It was brotherly or maybe fatherly, but certainly not at all sensual.

“Good night, Demelza. And don't think for one minute I’m going to allow you to pay for that taxi. I should take it out of Jim’s wages instead.”

“Good night, Mister Ross,” she said with a sincere smile.

---

Ross returned to the silent house, and after he poured a whisky, thought about what had just happened. It was still his nightly ritual to end by the fire and he expected to fall asleep in his chair and awaken hours later, stiff and sore in the cold room after the flames had gone out. 

Demelza was such a funny girl and the way she’d moved through her emotions at lightning speed that evening was fascinating to him. Although he was a fierce and sometimes arrogant man, hers was the stronger nature because the more pliant. She seemed incapable of feeling sorry for herself.

I could learn a thing or two from her.  

Ross was not looking forward to seeing Jim again on Monday but certainly Demelza would give the boy a piece of her mind first. She wasn't one for holding back. He’d have to make adjustments to Jim’s work schedule, perhaps deploy him further in the fields so he and Demelza didn’t have to meet much. He’d also have to give him clear instructions that if he were to continue living in the servants quarters above the north barn he was not permitted to bring other girls home, ever.

Ross sighed and was startled by the sound of his own breath in the otherwise quiet room. He realised he was feeling a sort of satisfaction that Demelza had learned to trust him over the years and that once again, she confided in him about her thoughts and emotions. Long ago he saw she needed a friend and he was pleased to be still be one to her since she’d grown. But he felt saddened too--for her--that she'd been reminded the hard way there were others in the world who were not to be trusted.

Ross sat for a minute in quiet contemplation then, leaving his filled glass untouched, mounted the stairs and went to bed.

 

Notes:

"Although he was a fierce and sometimes arrogant man, hers was the stronger nature because the more pliant," are of course Winston Graham's words from the third Poldark novel, Jeremy. I borrow them here with love and respect for his characters.

Chapter 15: Stalled

Notes:

The next four chapters all take place over a single night--slowing our slow burn down even further. But at least it's Christmas so that comes with mandatory tropes!

Christmas 2015 

Part I: 12PM-3:30 PM

“Demelza! Demelza, where are ya, girl?” Prudie called impatiently throughout the house before stomping into the kitchen and gathering up items at a furious speed.

“What’s all the fuss?” Ross was curious why Prudie was so tense on her soon-to-be day off. He picked up an apple and took a bite more from boredom than hunger. 

“Lookin’ for the girl, if she’s still wantin’ to get a ride home...back to Illogan, that is,” Prudie corrected herself. Of course Nampara--not #22 Wesley Road--was Demelza’s home and had been for the last year and a half.

Prudie still wasn't happy about Demelza’s plan to spend a few days with the Carnes for Christmas. She’d poked gently to see if she could get Demelza to be more open about her feelings, and seemed almost disappointed when the girl kept up a flat, almost icy, front. 

Returning to Illogan for the holidays was nothing more than a duty she mustn't shirk--there simply was no way around it, so Demelza wouldn't waste time nor energy lamenting it. She’d also expressed concern that her brothers might miss her if she didn't show, so it was clear she was not fulfilling this obligation for Tom Carne, but for them.

“Demelza’s up in her room. I thought you weren't leaving for your cousin Tina’s until 3?” Ross was mildly amused at Prudie’s hurried state. She normally shuffled about leisurely, taking her own sweet time, so this was a notable change.

“Altered plans. Tina needs help with the turkey and asked me to come early to lend my cookin’ expertise,” Prudie replied proudly.

Ross hoped his face hadn't betrayed the inner smirk he was feeling--‘cooking expertise’ was not a term often associated with the woman. He then quickly chastised himself for his less-than-generous appraisal of her skills. Who was he to talk and exactly what would he be fashioning for his own Christmas Eve dinner with neither Prudie nor Demelza to assist him that night?

“Well Happy Christmas then, Prudie, if I don't see you before you leave…” he began but she’d already flown out the door, her arms laden with the Nampara roasting pan and what looked to be a turkey baster. He shook his head, unaware that they even had one of those.

This house has lots of secrets, many yet to be revealed to me, Ross thought as he returned to the library. 

Ross was not at all dreading spending the holiday by himself--he preferred it that way, especially after months of Airbnb guests taking over his home. There had been a family booked for the Christmas holidays but they’d cancelled last minute to his great relief. For once, Ross didn't regret the loss of income since it meant he wouldn't be confined to his grim room above the barn in his solitude. Besides, it was only for the one night that he’d be completely alone.

For Christmas Day, Ross had been invited to Trenwith and while he’d accepted the invitation, he still wasn’t fully committed to going. He’d need to see how he felt about it tomorrow. 

Recent Christmases with the other Poldarks had been pleasant enough--well, at least it wasn’t unpleasant, just tedious. Aunt Agatha’s hearing was worse than ever, so any conversation had to be shouted. The year Geoffrey Charles was born, his parents were so immersed in the uninteresting world of their baby son and related the details of his latest developments as though it was the most gripping news of international importance. Then the following year, the boy was still incoherent but mobile--everyone had to hold tight to their wine glasses whilst he launched his wadling body to and fro, as graceless and as destructive as a battering ram at the castle gate. Now the child spoke, an expert on everything, and demanded to be the centre of attention.

Elizabeth had been a little less on edge with Ross in recent months. She wasn’t quite as desperate to capture and monopolise his attention as she had been in the past nor did she act wounded when he held it back. Perhaps she genuinely had been changed by the love she had for her son--or maybe she was simply too tired after minding her child all day to have much fuss left for Ross. But however motherhood had changed her, she still looked lovely and hadn’t lost any of her youthful bloom. And it was still unpleasant--although slightly less painful--for Ross to see her radiant beauty and know she was bound to someone else. And someone so much older than she.

The only reason Ross felt compelled to go to Trenwith at all was for Verity. She’d be there and had announced that this year she was “bringing a friend” to Christmas dinner.  Ross knew that meant Andrea, but wasn't sure just how much Verity was ready to reveal to Uncle Charles. Andrea apparently was growing impatient with the current secretive arrangement and had been urging Verity to come clean with her family. There was nothing shameful to hide, after all. 

But Ross knew this was easier said than done. Uncle Charles could be savagely cruel at times. He was quick to insult and would bellow like a boor when he felt wronged or mistreated, so Verity had cause to feel timid around him. Time and again, Charles Poldark had shown he didn't really care that much about Verity and certainly less about her actual happiness. Ross suspected his uncle would only consider what his daughter's attachment to a woman might mean to his own reputation. And yet perhaps was it possible they all just were overestimating the man’s spiteful wrath? Maybe his new family had mellowed him?

The Nampara library was quiet except for the crackling of the fire and some distant muttering from the yard. Ross strained to listen, but he could not quite make out what Prudie was upset about now. A single car door slammed, followed by the sound of tires on gravel, then the Mondeo drove away.

Yes, he was alone.

He moved to the chair by the fire. In truth it was not really any more comfortable than the swivel chair at the desk. With its vaguely grey and puke-green velour upholstery ripped in more than one spot, it was clearly destined for the rubbish heap at some point soon. Yet Ross had been unable to part with it--it had been his father’s. Perhaps even where Joshua had died.

Ross must have dozed, for he was suddenly awakened by the slamming of wind on the house--window panes rattled, the walls themselves seemed to shudder. The tinkle of Demelza’s laughter followed by an enthusiastic bark from Garrick could be heard coming from the kitchen. He looked at his watch--he must have been asleep for close to an hour. So she hadn’t left with Prudie. But why? He rose to his feet.

“Oh Mister Ross! Hope we didn't wake you,” she said, glancing up at his droopy eyes. She never judged him for catching a nap when he could--she knew he worked hard most days throughout the year, even on weekends and holidays.

“You didn't. That’s some wind…”

“I know! Thought it might blow me an’ Garrick right out of the yard! It’s tossin’ all sorts of debris ‘round though. I’ll warm myself a bit then go see what needs clearin’ up,” she explained and switched on the kettle.

“No need. It's Christmas Eve, you’re not on duty, Demelza. I thought you were going to your father’s today?”

“Am. But didn't feel like leavin’ quite so soon so I thought I’d take the bus later.”  

“Bus?”

“Yes, there's still buses today. It’s tomorrow they aren't runnin’,” she replied.

“Nonsense. I’ll drive you. Just tell me when.”

“You sure, Mister Ross?” she asked. She didn't say anything more but he knew what she was asking. She was checking whether at 1 PM he was still sober enough to drive. It was a fair question and he never lied to her when he wasn’t.

“Yes, I’m sure, Demelza.” He looked her straight in the eye. “Are you hungry at all? I was just about to fix myself some lunch.”

“Let me do it!” she chirped. He was about to object then thought better of it. Whatever she might conjure up from the pantries would no doubt be tastier than his best attempts, and he also suspected--rightfully so--that she was stalling.

Just then another great gust of wind shook the house.The lights flickered for a moment before they buzzed back on as though nothing had happened. Minutes later they heard the sound of rain hitting the roof.

“Demelza, you stay here. I’m going to make sure the stables and barn are secure if we are to have a proper winter storm.”

“I can help,” she pleaded. “Unless you’re too hungry to wait,” she added.

He was quite hungry but that wasn't her fault. She ate meals at regular times like a normal well-adjusted human, whereas when he was alone, he seemed captive to the whims of his fickle appetite. If he was hungry he ate, and if he wasn’t he would go for long stretches, maybe even a day, without so much as a morsel. Of course most days, the girl kept his table well-laid at predictable meal times but today was supposed to be her day off.

Ross could see she wanted to help with the stock--they were her great love and her primary responsibility. And if he were being honest with himself, he saw he could probably use her assistance.

Together they worked for about an hour, locking all the windows firmly, stacking up bales of hay for extra insulation where draughts might creep in, feeding and watering the stock so everyone was snug. The goats huddled together for warmth, the pigs and cows rested comfortably, oblivious to the rain hammering the roof tiles. Only Adele was restless in her stall. She did not like the wind and when she saw Demelza, snorted out her distress.

“There, there, my love,” Demelza cooed, petting the horse's forehead. “It’s only the wind. You’re a strong girl--can’t hurt you.” Adele pawed at the stable floor one last time, then turned to her trough, apparently soothed enough by Demelza’s tone.

At that moment Ross worried Demelza was perhaps talking more to herself than to the horse. Was she steeling herself for Tom Carne’s bluster--or worse--his blows? Ross knew he should once again extend the offer to return to Nampara via taxi should she find herself in any danger. He just hated to so openly discuss the harm that might be waiting for her in her father’s home. To remind her, to remind himself, was upsetting. Most days--for months now--they pretended her father just didn't exist.

“I wish it would snow, Mister Ross. Don’t you?” she said breaking the silence.

“Not really,” he laughed. “But I suppose it would look nice.”

“Yes, I know it’s extra work to grit the roads and shovel the paths but I mean... for Christmas. Rain and mud--not really pretty and cosy in the same way.”

Since when did she care so much about how things looked around her? For the last few years, actually, if you'd been paying attention, he chided himself.

“Come back in the kitchen, out of the wind. Let's eat lunch then I’ll get you home before the rain gets worse--or turns to sleet.”

----

Lunch was simple but fragrant and flavourful, as Ross had come to expect from the girl's cooking. She’d found some leftover roasted potatoes to warm in the oven and fried up some freshly cured bacon to go with them. She also heated a tin of tomato soup and added some fresh rosemary from the pot she’d been growing on the kitchen window sill. 

She set a place for Ross then turned to attend to the dishes.

“Demelza? Come join me, won’t you?” he asked her and beckoned her to the empty chair across.

She smiled warmly and moved to sit, traversing the kitchen in her usual half skip, half dance.

“I can make toast if you want anythin’ else…”

“This is perfect,” he said. “This bacon is exceptional. It isn’t from…”

“From one of ours? No, Mister Ross. Prudie an’ me just got this from Trembath yesterday,” she smiled. They’d come a long way since she first admonished him for sending her favourite piglet off to slaughter years before.

“You know Mister Trembath told us he might be sellin’ later this year? He doesn't think he can compete with the bigger chains. Folks are willin’ to drive the extra minutes to Newquay for Sainsbury or ASDA.” She sighed. “I always thought Trembath was doin’ steady business!”

Ross thought she sounded like one of the gossiping village ladies when she spoke of her dealings with the butcher. She could do that--switch from playful schoolgirl to wise old woman in just a flash. 

“It’s all about how a business presents itself--easy to be deceived,” he replied.

“Are you...are you doin’ alright, Mister Ross? Or is that wrong to have asked? It's just…”

“As my employee, your fate is wrapped up in mine, Demelza, so it seems a fair question. I'm better off than I was two years ago. But I still have a way to go before I can sleep easy at night. My father left so many debts…” 

“Oh sorry to hear that,” she said softly. “When’s the house booked next?”

“I like your way of thinking,” he laughed and shook his head. “There’s a problem and your mind just goes right to the solution. Since you ask, it’s booked for New Years so I have a few days to myself.”

“Okay, I’ll be sure to come back here from Illogan by then to help you,” she said scraping her spoon in her bowl for one last mouthful of soup. She slurped it inelegantly, then asked, “What are your plans for the hops this spring?”

He laughed again. Another fair question. He was hoping that he might persuade Tressida, another hops farmer in Cornwall, to partner with him. If they united--maybe even recruited others--and sold their yield together, they'd have a better bargaining position with the bigger breweries. He had to look forward. Up to now, Ross had always gotten a fair deal with Carnmore but since the Tonkin and Trevaunance partnership remained shaky, his future with them looked less certain.

“Let me help you with the dishes,” Ross offered, reluctantly pushing away from the table. It had been a pleasant lunch but had driven home the reality that his next few meals would pale in comparison.

Just then the lights flickered again, then went out entirely.

“I’ll get a torch,” Demelza said. 

“No, wait. Maybe they’ll come back on.” Ross held his breath but nothing happened. He rose and made his way through the rest of the house, Garrick at his heels, to suss out the scene. Sometimes they’d get lucky in a winter storm and only lose power in one wing. No such luck today. The power was out everywhere. 

It was still only afternoon but this time of year the rooms were dim without any lights. The scarce daylight would be gone in about an hour and the heating at Nampara was electric.  As the sun set, the house would only get darker and colder.  

“I’ve a generator in the storage shed,” Ross shouted to Demelza. “Can you build a fire in the parlour? Maybe make one in the kitchen hearth too?”

“Will do!” she called cheerfully.

She now has another reason to stall her return home.

---

“This isn’t looking good,” Ross grumbled as the generator started up with a roar. Immediately it was loud and smelly, filling the hallway with noxious fumes. 

“What’s wrong? It sounds like it’s workin’...”

“For now, but it runs on kerosene. And I’m afraid we didn't have much in the shed. Let’s just hope the power is restored sooner rather than later.”

Another hunk of rubbish his father couldn’t part with. He wanted to kick the stupid piece of machinery. 

“Should we save it then, for later when we’ll need it more?” she asked him. “I mean we’re okay for now. We can use torches, light candles when it gets darker…”

Ross was again touched by Demelza’s cheerful spirit and smiled weakly.

“Let’s get you home, Demelza.”

“Of course, Mister Ross,” she said flatly. “I’ll go get my bag.” 

No, she wouldn’t let him see she felt deflated, disappointed by the abruptness of his suggestion--he knew that. But it was for the best that she just get on with it. Especially now since there was nothing to keep her at Nampara.

Chapter 16: Stuck

Christmas 2015

Part II: 3:30PM-8PM

“Mister Ross! Are you alright? Oh no!” Demelza panted and unclicked her seatbelt to get a closer look at Ross slumped against the driver’s side window. 

“Yes, yes. Are you?” Ross put his hand to his forehead and didn't like what he found.

“Fucking hell! You’re bleedin’!” Demelza pulled a tissue from the pocket of her parka and very carefully pressed it to his head. The wound did not seem to be deep, just a scratch, but was steadily flowing nonetheless. Ross took the tissue from her and scowled.

“Don't be alarmed. Head wounds tend to bleed a fair bit,” he muttered.

“Why weren’t you wearin’ your seatbelt?” she asked.

“I was going to, once we were out on the main road. I thought I might still need to get out and push if we got stuck.”

The truck, now stalled, was at a 90 degree angle from the driveway, its back tires buried in a foot of half-frozen mud. Ross hadn’t been driving very fast, but that didn’t seem to help him get better traction. At once the truck had begun to fishtail on the slick road and, like an amateur, he tried to overcorrect the swerve and they’d spun around. 

“Well, we’re stuck now. Do you want me to get out and help you?” she offered.

He shook his head. He knew he was lucky that he wasn’t hurt worse and he was relieved the girl seemed unharmed. Outside the rain that had some time ago turned to sleet, was spraying the windscreen like buckshot. 

Now what? He closed his eyes and took a long inhale. 

“Will the main road be any better?” she asked. 

“I doubt it. The gritters haven’t been out yet--we’d have heard them.”

The windows inside the cab were already growing steamy from their warm breath. Demelza wiped hers with the sleeve of parka and leaned over to peer out. The only thing that could be made out through the darkening gloom was the eerie glaze of ice covering the grey mud. Everything seemed to have frozen instantly.

“This is mental,” she said suddenly and reached behind her seat for her bag. She opened the door, and as might be expected, a cold blast swept through the truck. “C’mon, Mister Ross! You’ll freeze out here,” she called, and without waiting for him, carefully began to make her way up the icy path back to the house.

 

-----

The hallway was pitch black--and now quite cold--when they first entered the house, but it didn't take them long to fumble for the torches they’d left by the coat pegs. Garrick was excited to see them both again so soon and ran in circles between their legs. Ross stepped out of his muddy boots then shuffled to the parlour in his socks.

I’ll get this blaze going again. Ross realised he hadn’t said the words out loud but Demelza must have known that’s what he was doing; she and Garrick had already disappeared elsewhere. 

Ross added more wood to the banked ashes and poked at it dispiritedly. Slowly the glow started to intensify until he felt assured the embers could be roused enough to tackle the log--the fire wasn’t so long neglected that it had burnt out completely.

He wasn’t sure how long he’d been staring into grate. Demelza came in to gather some firewood then left without saying a word. He thought he heard a little hum coming from her but couldn’t be certain--his ears still throbbed from being out in the freezing wind.

“If you’re making a fire in the kitchen, I’ll get more wood from the yard.” This time he called out and was surprised to hear his voice echo through the house.

She came back a minute later, holding a stainless steel bowl from the kitchen.

“No, you won’t. There’s enough for now, so it can wait. Okay, Mister Ross, let’s take a look at your head.” She plopped herself on the sofa. He understood he was being summoned, and moved to join her.

"Hold this,” she said and handed him a small pocket torch. “No, a bit more like...that’s it.” 

“I’m fine, really,” he started to object but somehow felt powerless before her.

Her brows were knit and she bit her lip as she first inspected his face, then dabbed his wound gently with a cloth. The bleeding had largely stopped but when the dried blood met the wet flannel, it made a smeary mess that needed to be wiped away. 

She put her hand under his chin and turned his head to further examine him. 

Ross meekly accepted this care, surprised at the authority she projected. When he dared to look up, he saw her in a moment of still-contemplation that seemed almost private. She’d let go of his face and now put her thumb to her own twisted lips. He’d never seen her eyes that closely before--and now in the dim, he could barely make out their colour at all, just their sparkle. But he swore he could see her thoughts dance across them.

“Well?” he asked.

“I think the skin above your right eyebrow split when your head hit the window, that’s all. Nothin’ cut into the flesh, really. I don’t think you need stitches--not that you could get them tonight if you did,” she said.

“I’ll have a set of scars then, one for each side of my face.” He tried to laugh.

“Oh?” she asked. She took his chin again and tilted his head so she could see his left side. The scar along his cheekbone from his injuries in Cyprus was still visible, only partially hidden by the stubble he wore regularly. “Was it bad once? Most days I hardly notice it,” she added.

“Yes, it was, but at the time my looks were the least of my concerns,” he said. Then he’d been more worried about whether he’d ever walk again--or ever love again.

“You know some doctors are usin’ super glue now instead of stitches to close a wound,” she said. “It’s supposed to work well and leave little scarrin’.”

“Are you going to experiment on me?” he asked.

“Nah, we don’t have any glue around, so you’re out of luck, Mister Ross. In fact, I couldn't even find a plaster in the house. I have some in my room but ...” she said. 

“Don’t bother going out in this sleet. I’ll be fine,” he said briskly.

“But I do have this--couldn’t hurt to bring down any swellin’!” She laughed and held up a sack of what appeared to be frozen pearl onions. “Who the hell buys frozen onions? These aren’t meant to actually be eaten, are they?”

“You’d have to ask Prudie, but judging by the ancient ice crystals on them I’d say they’ve been at Nampara longer than you have.” He tentatively put the bag to his face. The room was already cold, so to willingly seek out something even colder seemed counter intuitive. He winced and lowered his hand.

“Well speakin’ of ice, no use runnin’ the generator for the fridge and freezer. I’ve cleared ‘em and moved most of what’s worth savin’ outside. I think it will all keep in the yard overnight. What won’t, we can eat for dinner. It won’t be as nice as lunch but I’ve a plan that I think will work,” she explained.

“Shall I help you?”

She raised his hand holding the ice pack back up to his eye and flashed him a stern look.

“No, Mister Ross. You just sit there until you are called.”  

Without being asked, she went to the cabinet against the wall and poured him a rather stiff drink.

“Here’s a double for you,” she winked, clearly proud that she’d read his mind.

“More like a triple,” he laughed. He wondered for a moment if he should offer her one. She was sixteen now--sixteen and a half in fact--still underage to buy her own drinks but not to be served at home. How old was he when someone first slipped him a brandy at Christmas? Did it matter that he wasn’t her relative? He wasn’t sure of the law. The last thing he needed was Tom Carne bursting in and finding her drinking and alone with him the dark. 

But she’d risen and was already gliding off before he had a chance to finish his thinking. Maybe later.

“You know, Demelza, the way you tended to me just now--patient but confident, not deterred by any blood. I think you’ll make a fine vet someday. You have the right touch,” he said, looking up at her as she stood in the darkened door frame.

“Well, you’re a gentle beast to practice on, Mister Ross, and aren’t likely to bite me!”

----

The whisky did its job and despite his throbbing head, Ross soon dozed off again. When he woke this time the fire was still going but otherwise the room had gone completely black. He reached for the unlit torch next to him on the sofa and shook it. No use--the batteries were dead. 

But he didn’t need light. He knew how many steps it took to get to the staircase, to the downstairs toilet, to the kitchen. Once he was in the hallway he could hear Demelza singing to herself. And once again he followed his nose.

“Mister Ross, that you?” she asked and held up a candle as he emerged in the kitchen doorway. 

“Better be me,” he replied. “I’m not interested in entertaining any visitors tonight.”

“It’s just the wind is makin’ things a little creepy,” she said softly.

But you’re not afraid of the dark, he almost teased. Instead he inhaled.

“Demelza, what on earth have you managed…?”

“It’s almost all ready, here have a seat,” she giggled and set another lit candle down in front of his place at the table. The old kitchen table had a white cloth spread on it--he wasn’t sure where she’d found it--and she’d placed a bowl of holly, pine, and yew clippings as a centerpiece. He hoped she hadn't gone in the icy yard to pick them but doubted that. They most likely had been adorning the house already but he’d been too thick to notice.

“Ta dah!” she cried. “Here we go!”

“You cooked on the hearth?” he asked incredulously.

“No--not on an open flame but the oven. See?” She opened the little cast iron door built into the brickwork up the side. “Didn't you ever wonder what was behind that door? That’s how they used to bake bread and stuff back in like the 20th century!”

“And you got it to work?”

“I think so--you have to keep the fire hot and move things around. And be all kinds of patient. I was mostly makin’ frozen stuff but it took forever to warm through,” she said cheerfully.

“Demelza, I’m impressed! But you know it wasn’t the 20th century, more like the 19th.”

“Same thing,” she laughed. “Oh, but I suppose not to you.”

“Because I’m fifty?” he teased. “Is that it?”

“Oh don’t be silly Mister Ross. I know your birthday is next week and you’ll be turnin’...at least 37!”

“You are getting closer, I suppose.”

“Okay--now I told you this wasn’t gonna be elegant--it’s only fish fingers and peas. But if you drink it with an ale you can pretend you are in a really bad pub.”

“This is simply incredible,” he stammered as she placed a hot plate in front of him. When he looked up at her he could tell--even in the dark-- she was beaming with pride.

“Prudie’d said you were goin’ to Trenwith tonight, Mister Ross. If I’d known you were gonna be home alone I’d have prepared you a special supper in advance, like I did for Garrick.”

“No, that’s tomorrow that I’ll go there,” he said and did not relish the reminder. “But I’m not alone--am I, Demelza? So tell me...just what does Garrick get?” Ross asked.

“Oh, he gets his treat tomorrow,” she whispered as though the dog might overhear them.

“But what else am I smelling?”

“Yes that’s for you! Another surprise,” she said, “For later.”

“Okay, I can wait. But please sit…”

“No worries, I’m comin’! I’m so hungry I could eat a horse!” she laughed. “Oh your ale!” She leapt back up and returned a moment later with a tall can of Grambler copper ale and a glass for him. “Cheers!” she sang.

“Best pub ever,” he said. In the moment, he meant it. He was so touched by it all--the resourcefulness, the unexpected meal, the easy company. He realised he’d been smiling for some time--an almost unfamiliar sensation. “Do you want one?” he asked her holding his can aloft.

“An ale? Oh no, Mister Ross. I can’t stand the stuff.”

-------

Demelza put the last of the fish fingers on each of their plates, then without meaning to, shivered. They had been so absorbed in their Christmas dinner that they hadn’t noticed just how cold the house had grown.

“I’m afraid it will only get worse as the hour grows later,” Ross said sympathetically. “We’ll have to bundle up I think. Wearing a hat will help for sure.”

“Okay, but before we go get on our parkas, let’s have dessert first.”  

Ross raised an eyebrow but said nothing; he was no longer surprised by her determination to create a festive Christmas.

“Fucking hell! That’s hot!” She was standing before the old oven door again but had jumped back, waving her hand, presumably to cool a burn.

“Don’t be foolish, Demelza. Use an oven mitt,” Ross chided then realised he should try to be kinder. “Are you badly hurt? Do you need ice?” Of course any ice would have to come from the yard, not the freezer.

“I did use mitts! It’s just the damn things just have holes in them--I think Prudie caught them on fire one time too many. And don’t talk to me about bein’ foolish when you couldn’t even be arsed to wear a seatbelt!” she half laughed, half spat. 

He hadn’t expected such a vehement response from her but she was right. His actions earlier were foolish. He always made such a production about safety precautions on the farm. He should know his own habits--good and bad--were being watched as well. He’d need to set a better example.

“I just wasn’t expectin’ quite so much steam...” She grabbed a tea towel for extra reinforcement and tried again.

Steam? What is she up to now? Ross thought. She was just a few feet away but it was too dark to make out exactly what she was doing.

“Okay, Mister Ross. I can’t make any promises this time…” She set the copper pan down on the table for a moment then readjusted the tea towel wrapped around her hands.

“Is that a…”

“Christmas puddin’! Well it’s supposed to be anyway, I never made one before. ‘Course this one wasn’t in the oven for six hours only two, but I think it looks set. Guess we’ll find out,” she laughed. Carefully she turned it over a plate and held her breath as she lifted the mold and stepped back. The dark, fragrant pudding held its shape and glistened in the candlelight.

“That’s incredible, Demelza. Did you learn this from the cooking channel too?”

“No--there’s a recipe on the side of this old pan. See? This thing must be ancient!” She held up the mold for him to inspect. Sure enough there were words, mostly still legible, embossed around the copper baking dish--ingredients for a classic pudding.

“And we had mostly everythin’, except we didn’t have candied peel and we didn’t have any stout. I did use some ale but before you go and lecture me, Mister Ross, I know it’s not the same thing.”

“It smells amazing…” He closed his eyes and inhaled again. 

“And I didn't make the sauce ‘cause I didn't know if you had any brandy you could spare...” she apologised.

“I’ll go check,” he said, and was on his feet at once. It was the least he could do to contribute to her efforts.

He came back quickly with a bottle and a sportive grin.

“We haven’t any brandy in the house but we’ve this old rum. It’s overproof so it should light easily,” he said, unstopping the dusty bottle.

“Overproof? What does that mean?” she asked.

“Very strong,” he winked and retrieved two small glasses from the shelf behind him. 

“Wait...light it?” she asked nervously.

“Yes, Demelza. It has to be set ablaze! That’s the best part of a pudding. That and the coin.”

“Oh, I forgot the coin!” she lamented. “But you know how to…” she asked tentatively.

“Sure, I suppose.” He sniffed the bottle then poured out a glassful. As he drizzled the rum liberally over the pudding, he glanced over at her. She was watching him, her mouth open in suspended laughter and awe. He was happy to entertain her after all she’d done for him that day. After the last drop dribbled out, he refilled the one glass and then poured another. The second he set in front of her.

“What’s this for?” she asked.

“To drink. I believe it’s customary to toast on Christmas Eve,” he explained matter of factly. He was amused that she for once didn’t know what to do or say.

“Okay…” She wasn’t fully convinced but took the glass in her hand as directed. “It smells...it smells strong, Mister Ross.”

“Well you're a strong girl. Happy Christmas!” he said and raised his glass. 

He kept his eyes trained on her as she timidly lifted her glass. She smiled then looked down at her drink with the same twisted lips of contemplation he had seen on her face earlier. After taking a few seconds to further brace herself, she drank the rum down in one great gulp.

“Oh fucking hell! It burns! Oh god!” she laughed, wiping first her mouth, then her watering eyes.

“It will warm you, for sure.” He threw his own drink back and found he shuddered just a bit himself.

“I think I’d rather just get a hat,” she quipped. 

His laugh--a deep, hearty chuckle--rang out in the kitchen and in just an instant, changed everything. It was so rare a sound and cut through the darkness, charging the room with joy. The sort of happiness that in itself was a deep comfort--like being truly at home.

Ross refilled their glasses then prepared for his next mission.

“Do you want a match?” Demelza offered.

“I’ll just use the candle.”

“It might drip on...” she began but never got to finish her sentence. 

As soon as Ross touched the light to it, the rum soaked pudding caught with an eager rush. But the flame then raced down the pudding and off the plate, onto the table cloth where some rum had dribbled unbeknownst to either of them. Within seconds, the table cloth was also ablaze.

“Oh no!” Demelza was on her feet and rushing to the sink.

“The mitts! The mitts!” he shouted fumbling about until he found them. He deftly beat down the fire before it spread any further as she returned with a glass of water. 

“No, not on the pudding!” he stopped her. “You’ll ruin it.”

“But it’s gonna burn down the house!” she cried.

“No, the worst is out now. Just let it die out….” He held her arm back and watched as the flare slowed, then faded away once its fuel was spent. “Well that wasn’t what I expected to be doing tonight,” he said. 

“Are you burnt?” she asked softly.

“No, not at all.” He smiled then he saw she was still shaken. She’d stiffened, her eyes were wide and her mouth was open as if she was trying to decide whether or not to breathe. 

“But the table cloth. It was so fine…” She muttered and glanced at him, then down to her feet. 

Maybe she wasn’t scared about the fire but...was she expecting him to erupt in anger?

“Come on, let’s eat this thing,” he said gently and with mitted hands, guided her back to her chair. “Better drink that,” he urged. “For your nerves.”

She did as she was told then shivered again as the rum ran down her throat. But like a dog shaking its wet fur, she seemed to regain her previous vitality, and loosened at once.

“I been thinkin’, Mister Ross,” she said after a minute.

“Yes?” he tried to contain the snicker of laughter. It was a familiar refrain and usually some sort of admonishment--normally directed at him--would follow. But whatever it was, he wanted her to know he always took her thinking seriously.

“Well, maybe next Christmas, instead of rum on the puddin’, we should be sure to use brandy.”

Chapter 17: Friends and Flames

Christmas 2015

Part III: 8-10PM

“Have you spoken to your family? To tell them you’re not coming home tonight?” Ross asked. He hated to bring the Carnes up but it was weighing heavy on him in the hours since they’d abandoned his truck in the mud.

He and Demelza had agreed to leave the dinner mess for the morning, and after banking the fire in the kitchen, had moved back into the parlour. Now they were bundled in their outdoor things--jackets, beanies, even gloves. Ross tended the hearth and as long as they stayed close enough to it, the room was tolerable. 

“Yeah, they’ll be fine,” she answered with a sigh. “Turns out my father has a girlfriend! Can you believe it? Anyway, they’re goin’ over to her house tonight and I think they were relieved maybe that without me they could all fit in my dad’s car.”

“I’m sure they’ll miss you,” Ross said automatically. She ignored his empty comment and looked back at the fire.

“You need a Christmas tree, Mister Ross,” she said without turning around. She’d taken Garrick in her lap for one extra layer and he eagerly accepted his duty to keep her warm. He licked her face, intrigued by the smells of fish, nutmeg, and rum that lingered on her skin. 

“Do I?”

“Next year, we’ll see to that,” she said.

“You’re making lots of plans for next Christmas Eve,” he laughed. “There’s still four hours left of this one.”

“We had a tree last year in Illogan but to be honest, I think my brother Luke nicked it from somewhere. One day there it was--already decorated and everythin.’ Then a few days later, it was gone, like it had never been there. No one mentioned it again. But that’s the way things are with my family. Things come and go. Nothin’ is ever predictable…”

It was the most Ross had heard her open up about her family in some time. But then again he didn't usually spend hours on end with her. Maybe it just took her a while to let her guard down. Or else...?

Of course, the rum was chipping away at her defenses.

“Do you like the routine here?” he asked. “You don’t find it tedious?” 

“Oh no,” she cried. “Even though there’s a regular schedule of chores, things still come up and you gotta be ready for surprises. Some creature gets sick or suddenly gets mean and won’t mind you. Or the threat of bad weather makes you have to work twice as hard when the sun is shinin’...then there was the one time Jim didn't lock up the chicken feed and the goats had diarrhea for twelve fuckin’ hours. We were lucky that’s all it was…”

“They might have only been sick for a day but I seem to recall you convinced Jim to muck the stalls for a week after that,” Ross laughed.

“Really Mister Ross, how could he object?” she raised an eyebrow coyly.

Yes, she could be persuasive. 

“Well now I know what to get Prudie for Christmas next year,” she said, changing the subject.

“Yes? What’s that?”

“A new pair of oven mitts!”

“They are in even worse shape now I believe,” he laughed. “But a worthy sacrifice.”

“Oh! I forgot!” she said suddenly and jumped to her feet. “I have somethin’ for you, Mister Ross.”

“Demelza you don’t need to...and if it’s more food I assure you, I’m quite full from…”

“No, I promise it’s not edible. I’ll be right back.”

And just like that, she ran out of the room. A minute later he heard the back door slam. Had she really gone out in this sleet? What was she thinking? Or maybe she wasn’t thinking--and it was the rum that was spurring her on.

---

Garrick had stayed behind and now he paced the room restlessly then pawed at the door. When he saw he was being ignored, he trotted over to Ross squatting by the fire, and barked insistently.

“For god’s sake, boy. She’ll be right back,” Ross snapped and jabbed at the flames irritably. “Surely my company isn’t that inadequate?” He poured himself another drink and left the half-empty bottle on the table by the sofa. 

The old rum had grown on him. Rather than tasting like the last hope of a desperate pirate, it now seemed festive--almost special even. But Ross suspected that had more to due with the exceptional circumstances and perhaps the warm company.

Where was she? She’d been gone an awfully long time.

“Oh Mister Ross!” she called from the hallway then breezed into the parlour, her arms full of firewood.

“Demelza! You are not a beast of burden--what did I tell you? I would have gotten more wood…” Ross wasn’t hiding his exasperation but she didn’t hear it. 

“It’s brilliant,” she gushed while he hastened to take the armload from her. “Mister Ross, it’s snowin’!” She was beaming, her white teeth glistening in the candlelight as she took off beanie and shook out her long hair. Her cheeks were pink--and so was her nose.

“Snow?” he asked. “Is it coming down hard?”

“No, it’s delightful and soft and the whole yard is quiet and magical!” she went on. “It’s just what I wanted! An’ when you look in the windows of the house you can see the candlelight...it’s so pretty.” She brushed the flakes off her shoulder and stamped her feet.

“Come by the fire and warm up,” he said, this time trying to be more welcoming in his tone. 

“I checked in on the animals again while I was out. Everyone’s still snug and warm. Even Adele is calm now that the wind has died. I gave them all just a little extra so they’ll be fine until mornin’ now.” She pulled off her mittens and splayed her fingers before the roaring blaze.

“I should have helped you,” he lamented.

“You can't be expectin’ to do everythin’, Mister Ross! Besides your job was here--keepin’ this fire goin’,” she said. “Okay, here’s your present.” 

“What? Demelza? You didn't need to...and to go out…” He was really getting flustered and wasn’t sure how to parry her enthusiasm. 

She reached in her pocket and pulled out something small. In the dark he couldn't quite make out what she was holding.

“It’s a friendship bracelet, since you liked mine,” she explained. “I made it for you.”

“That’s very thoughtful of you…” he stammered. He’d given her and Prudie and Jim some extra cash as their holiday presents. Somehow this little trinket seemed so much more valuable.

“I hope you like the colours. Red and black are strong colours but pure--not tryin’ to be anythin’ but themselves. Like you, I suppose,” she laughed and took his right wrist in her hand. 

She started to tie it on then fumbled for a minute--it was awfully dark and she was trying to avoid the dark hairs that crept down his forearm to his hands. 

He noticed her fingers were cold when they brushed against his skin.

“There!” she announced proudly and looked up into his face.

“I’m...happy to be your friend, Demelza,“ he said solemnly. 

“Oh you say that now but the next time I’m naggin’ at you for somethin’ you’ll remember how difficult I am!” she laughed.

He opened his mouth to object--did she really think she was difficult?--but found the words were slow to come. Meanwhile she had bounced closer to the fire, grabbing Garrick back up in her arms for a cuddle. She seemed to be shimmering in the firelight. 

Then he saw what was happening. Of course, the rum had sharpened her but was dulling him. No, that wasn’t quite true--he was aware and perceiving and even feeling--just completely unable to express himself.

“You’re not difficult,” he finally managed to say. “Well, not always,” he teased, thinking it might be wisest to keep things light.

“Mister Ross? Why do you keep Prudie on?” she asked. 

Speaking of difficult, he thought.

“You think I should sack Prudie?” he laughed. He felt quite certain Demelza would not in fact be in favour of that.

“No, never! It's just that she’s not very good at...at what you ask her to do. So wouldn't she be better off in a situation where she could feel better ‘bout herself and her work?” 

“You’ve given this some thought,” he replied.

“No, never thought about it until now. But she’d be good with old people, don't you think? Might give her life some meanin’...”

“She was good with my father. What do you know about a meaningful life?” he asked. 

“Nothin’ really. In fact we just read Camus in school so I suppose life really is meaningless…”

He let out another chuckle.

“Oh Demelza,” he laughed. “Sixteen years old is prime time for your first existential crisis. So tell me, did you like Camus?”

“What? I’m not havin’ a crisis!” she protested. “But since you ask, no, I didn't care for Camus very much…I prefer science to literature anyway. It’s more cheerin'--predictable. And I prefer animals to people too, while we’re at it,” she said and without asking, reached across to the table and poured herself another rum. She drank a sip--not a whole gulp this time--giggled, then closed her eyes.

“Careful, Demelza,” he said gently. “You might regret that tomorrow--it may not feel so festive then.” But it was too late for warnings. She was definitely more than just tipsy.

“Mister Ross, do you think Prudie would mind if I slept in her bed tonight? It’s awful cold up above the barn, though I suppose I could bunk with the goats!”

“I believe you are only half kidding about the goats,” he said. “Listen Demelza, you take my bed in my room. Upstairs. There’s a fireplace in there so if we start a fire now, by the time you are ready to go to sleep it should be warmed up a bit.”

“You sure?” she asked, not sure what to make of his words.

“Yes, I’ll stay here, on the sofa. That way I can tend to this fire too.”

“Oh Mister Ross, that’s such a nice thing to do!” She leapt up, almost upsetting her half-drunk glass. She laughed and threw down the rest before crushing her arms around him in a hug.

“Steady, Demelza,” he said, reaching up to put his hands on her arms.

“Merry Christmas, Mister Ross!”

----

Demelza lay on the rug in front of the hearth in Ross’s bedroom. She kept her warm things on and hadn’t undressed, but it wasn’t long before she started to feel the heat from the fire easing the chill. Her cheeks were flushed but that was not necessarily a result of the flames in the grate. 

The wine she’d drunk at the summer bonfire with Jinny did not have nearly this effect on her. She’d never had strong spirits before and felt surprised as the influence continued to wear on. She’d watched her mate Aislin overdo it when they went to Ibiza and she’d seen Jim and his mates get pissed loads of times, but she’d always managed to stop herself after just one drink. 

The room was swaying but gently, in an enjoyable way, like she was dancing even though she was lying down. A smile spread across her face but she couldn't really pinpoint what was making her happy; normally she hated feeling out of control. She pulled Garrick into a hug and laughed out loud.  

The dog didn't quite understand why she’d joined him on the floor and after a minute, abandoned her and jumped up on the old mahogany bed with a sigh.

Okay, time for sleep, she told herself and tried to stand, then staggered just a bit. She put her hand out to reach for the bed and found it much closer than she thought. She giggled again then happily tumbled over onto it, glad that she’d left her muddy shoes downstairs.

Ross had promised to check the fire upstairs later and bank it once she was asleep so she needn’t bother with it now. She lay on her side in the dark, watching the flames lap at the cold air.  

She felt alive but blurred at the edges, like the world was humming to her. It was lovely now but she knew both from instinct and from the experience of living with her father all those years, that things could get messy quickly. The worst might still be to come. 

Oh, it would not do to be sick in Mister Ross’s bed!

You’re a strong girl--isn’t that what Mister Ross had said to her? He would be disappointed in her if he saw her now, stumbling about unable to focus her thoughts. Or was this how he felt every night? She knew he liked strong drink.

“Oh Mister Ross,” she whispered and buried her face into the cold pillowcase.

Chapter 18: Ashes

Christmas 2015

Part IV:  8AM-11AM

When she woke, Demelza was struck by the room’s softness. The snow outside muffled any sounds and the sun reflecting off the white banks, bathed everything in that special winter light found only after a snowfall. The storm was over.  

She shifted her stiff body then felt the extra weight on the other side of the mattress. Without even looking over, she sensed he was there and gasped. 

Beside her, his dark head sunken into his own pillow, Ross lay asleep. 

Demelza clutched the covers up to her neck, then quickly felt herself under the duvet. She was still more than fully clothed--her extra layers very much intact--and this helped to allay any ridiculous fears that something might have happened. Between them.

Events from the night before swirled through her mind, a blur mostly, with some scenes coming into sharper focus. The truck’s accident on the slippery mud, the near disastrous lighting of the pudding, the bottle of overproof rum, the soft hairs on Ross’s wrist when she tied on the bracelet. Demelza could only recall bits of the conversation they’d had in the cold parlour but she was certain that when she went upstairs, she’d gone up alone. So how had Ross ended up next to her in the bed?

He was at the far edge of the old mattress--was he even aware that she was there? Still he was close enough that she could hear him breathe, see his creased lids flutter just a bit, smell the wood smoke that emanated from his clothes and his hair.

She felt as though she was standing over a crack in the earth that was widening under her feet. This man--her Mister Ross, whom she cared about more than any other person--was closer now than he’d ever been. But it was all wrong. So wrong. And it must be her fault. 

What have I done? She tried again to recall what she had said--what he had said in return--and came up with nothing.

“Sorry, Mister Ross,” she whispered as she slipped out of the bed. “I’m sorry.” But for what? She couldn't say.

----

Demelza padded around the Nampara kitchen looking for her boots. The flags were cold underfoot but yesterday’s chill--the aching cold that had cut through to their bones--was gone. The power must have been restored in the night and now the heaters all clicked and hummed, straining mightily to warm the old house. In almost every room, the lights were on; the brightness hurt her eyes in a way she hadn’t expected.

She switched on the kettle and immediately set to work. 

It was after nine when she came back inside from the barn--still early but she could put it off no longer. 

“Yeah, it’s me. Happy Christmas to you too, Sam,” she said into her mobile after her brother picked up. “Is he? Good. Well, can you tell him to come get me now? Don’t bother with Mister Ross’s driveway, it hasn’t been plowed yet. I’ll be waiting on the main road then. Cheers.”

-----

At the quiet stirring beside him, Ross’s eyes opened, but the weight of the surrounding daylight proved too heavy and his lids shut again instantly. Yet in that brief moment he’d made out the figure slipping out from under the duvet on the other side of his bed. Garrick’s nails clicked on the floorboards to follow as she tiptoed across the room. Seconds later Ross was alone again.

Now he opened his eyes fully and tried to sit up. His head ached and his mouth was dry--these were familiar morning feelings for him, but the wash of confusion as to why the girl had been there was enough to jolt him awake.

To his right, the soft indention in the pillow and the rumpled bedding remained. No, he hadn’t been mistaken--these were traces she’d slept beside him. He rubbed his eyes and the cold ashy grate came into focus, its fire long since gone out.

The fireplace.

It all started to come back to him. He’d promised to bank the fire for her after she went to bed--that was it, the reason why he’d come upstairs. He must have forgotten he’d offered to sleep on the sofa and once in his room, instinctively--drunkenly--climbed into his own bed. And without even tending the hearth.

Without even realising she was there? he questioned his actions. Reckless, dangerous. What kind of pathetic inebriate had he become? 

Ross allowed his head to fall back on his pillow and grabbed another to shield his eyes. It was cowardice--he knew it--but all the same he wanted to slink back to sleep and hide from the shame. He hadn’t expected Demelza’s scent to be on the pillow--he hadn’t realised she even had a scent, but of course she did, and it was not a welcome reminder. After tossing the offending pillow across the room, he pulled the covers over his face instead, and willed himself back to sleep.

When he finally woke again, it was half ten. He could avoid it no longer and rose.

The house was quiet but for Garrick whining as he laid forlorn at the front door. Ross knew at once they were alone; Demelza must have left to go back to Illogan. If she had merely gone to her room or out to tend to the stock, she would have taken Garrick with her.

It was curious. The house was warmer and brighter now that the daylight and the power had returned, but it seemed emptier and more devoid of life than it had the night before.

In the kitchen he found a short note left on the table: Food all back in the fridge--nothing spoiled but the milk froze. There’s still some bacon for breakfast. Please give Garrick his Christmas supper--also in fridge. Be back Sunday.

At least Demelza said she’d be back and he needn’t worry that his clumsy drunken actions had scared her off for good. The idea that she might have felt intimidated or even frightened by his ox-like thoughtlessness made his stomach turn.

He wasn’t hungry, still he opened the fridge and unwrapped the bundle wrapped in white butcher’s paper that he suspected had been set aside for Garrick’s special treat. The bile that was already churning within him wasn’t calmed by the sight of the shimmering dark kidneys and fatty meat scraps. He put the whole thing--wrappings and all--on the floor for the dog then shuffled into the parlour.

Another cold grate and pile of ashes. The faint smell of kerosene merged with the more aromatic wood smoke--no doubt both would linger in the upholstery and carpets indefinitely. And there on the small table, sat the bottle of rum, nearly empty. A sunbeam came pouring in through the window pane and like a hapless idiot, oblivious to what grim despair it exposed, shone on the smeary glasses left behind from the night before.

Ross had never felt so low. Over the years, he’d made countless mistakes and acted irresponsibly, recklessly, self-destructively. But he’d never endangered another. Not until now. Last night he’d drunk too much, hadn’t properly attended the fires before retiring, and had...well at best he’d broken a promise to Demelza to take care of things. At worst, he’d violated the sense of security she’d fought so hard to establish for herself here at Nampara. The black and red weaving tied around his wrist rubbed his skin, reminding him of his failings.

He had to do better.

Ross gathered up the offending rum in one hand and resisted the urge to fling it into the fireplace--the recycling bin was too good for it. Then he stopped, and retracing his steps, went to the cabinet in the parlour where he kept other bottles. He grabbed the half-empty whisky as well and marched to the back door with both.  

The cold air felt good on his face but the shimmering snowscape dazzled his still-tired eyes. He poured the remaining whisky and the last traces of rum out on the snow that had piled up against the house and watched as the slushy brown puddle grew. The white drift that Demelza had so admired the night before, was yet another thing he’d now marred.

No more, he thought. I can’t keep doing this. I can never let her down again.

Chapter 19: Like Someone Who Would Know Her Own Mind

May 2016

Ross shifted uncomfortably in the driver’s seat, then wound down his window for air. It was a spring day that had grown warm rather quickly and since the truck was now standing still, the interior of the cab was stuffy and stale. On the dashboard, in the fine layer of dust that had accumulated there, a slender finger had traced stars and hearts, probably without even realising what it was doing--her hands were always moving, weren’t they?

He tried to stretch out his cramped legs then thought better of staying in the truck, and stepped out onto the pavement of the Tesco car park. He was anxious to get home; this stop was to be their last errand of the day but was taking longer than expected.

Ross had picked Demelza up from school that afternoon and together they’d driven down to Redruth on Nampara business. First they’d gone to Carharrack Animal Feeds in Pennance Road, and while they only had one item to pick up--a bottle of organic horse supplements Demelza had ordered special for Adele--she’d ended up chatting with the clerk for almost twenty minutes about how sudden changes in grass chemistry might adversely affect a horse’s system. 

Next they’d gone to the tractor supply store. Visits there had been growing in frequency over the last two years as Ross’s tractor seemed to be in constant need of service for one malfunction or another. Ross had gotten good at doing the repairs himself--he’d gained some mechanical training while in the army--but the costs of new parts were adding up, and in the end there was a limit to what he could do with the old thing. He knew he would soon have to reexamine his finances to see if he could afford to replace it altogether. But even a used one, if decent, would be at least £10,000. Another loan he’d need to take out and more interest that would accumulate, and yet he had little choice if he wanted the hopyard to remain productive. 

So by the time they’d pulled into the Tesco car park, Ross was in a sour mood. 

“Why don’t you wait here, Mister Ross, while I dash in? I won’t be a minute and you can have... a bit of a quiet rest all to yourself,” Demelza suggested. 

Ross laughed weakly and saw what she was doing. She was, subtly, asking him to pull himself together--she was also recognising his distress and offering to help him in whatever small way she could.

She’d needed to pick up some things for their dinner at Prudie’s request. But they all knew that no matter what Demelza bought, it would be the girl who ended up preparing the meal, not Prudie. It happened time and again. Sometimes it was because Demelza was seized with inspiration while shopping. Other times it was because she brought home something Prudie didn’t even recognise, like when Demelza presented her with garlic scapes.

"An’ what ‘xactly am I to do with these?” Prudie had sneered, not even willing to touch them.

“They are supposed to be very flavourful, Prudie. I read a recipe for garlic scape pesto that apparently goes well with fish,” Demelza had explained, handing over a wrapped parcel of hake fillets to bolster her argument.

“Didn’t they ‘ave any sea bass?” Prudie cocked her head, still skeptical of Demelza’s vision.

“Sea bass is high in mercury,” Demelza replied. “And anyway, the hake was cheaper.”

“Alright, girl, suppose you’ll have to show me then,” Prudie huffed, still put out, as though she’d been robbed of a chance to cook supper herself.

Ross liked how, for Demelza, education was not a thing limited to school. Eagerly, she grasped at all the scraps of knowledge she could find--about grass chemistry, and mercury levels in fish, or even garlic scape pesto--and whatever new idea she’d come across, she’d immediately put it to use in her own life. She was a quick learner, undeterred by any obstacles in her way. Hers was just so unlike Ross’s own approach; he was slow, overly-deliberate, always looking back to labour over his mistakes. Demelza didn't seem to let the past trouble her. At least Ross hoped she didn't.

In his agitated impatience, Ross considered reaching into the glove box for one of the remaining cigarettes he knew was still there. But if he mistimed this whole endeavour, and Demelza came out to see him smoking, she’d surely give him hell. He didn't want to let her down. 

Besides, do I even have a lighter with me?

While he wrestled with his growing urge, a shiny black Audi pulled up next to his truck, and when the windows were lowered Ross saw, to his regret, he knew its occupants. 

Susan Teague was a neighbour who lived relatively close to Nampara. Ross knew she had been familiar with his father and apparently was so with Uncle Charles as well. Her youngest daughter, Ruth, had been at school with Elizabeth and the two women had remained friends all these many years. But the Teague-Poldark acquaintance was not one Ross had sought to maintain after his father’s death. Quick to gossip and to judge, absolutely obsessed with status and superficial markers of wealth, the Teagues were, in a word, insufferable.

“Hello, Mr. Poldark, we’ve seen so little of you lately,” Mrs. Teague both greeted and chastised him at the same time. She’d exited her car and after a quick glance at Ross’s old truck, came closer to chat. “And tell me, how is your little hops growing experiment?”

“It is hardly an experiment.” Ross hoped he didn’t sound too abrasive in his quick response. He wasn’t simply messing about but putting everything he had into this venture, for better or worse. The hopyard had been growing over the years so it wasn’t really little either. The way Mrs. Teague spoke of it--as though he were just some spoiled rich kid whose father was bankrolling a passing fancy--made him uneasy. Ross had known boys like that when he was in school, boys like George Warleggan, but Ross had never relied on his family for support. How could he? His own father had had nothing to offer. 

“Yes well, this whole craft brewing trend...sounds like an engaging hobby, is it not?” Mrs. Teague persisted.

“For some perhaps, but it’s a bit more than a hobby for my colleagues at Carnmore.” Again Ross shook his head at her cluelessness.

“And you, Ross? Are you involved in the brewing as well? Do you do anything outside of your...farming?” Ruth asked. She too had stepped closer, touching his arm as she spoke, trying to show she was a bit more responsive than her mother.

“I’m very well occupied, I assure you.” Ross smiled politely but was not about to pursue the conversation further. Why didn’t they take the hint and just leave him alone? What exactly did they want?

And then Ross saw what Ruth was doing. Her smile, her sidewise glances, her batting lashes, her gently cocked head--Ruth Teague was flirting with him.

He almost laughed. If he raised his arm just now so she could see the perspiration stain on his shirt or if he invited her for a drive in his smelly truck, would she remain interested? Couldn’t Ruth see him for who he really was?

Come on, Demelza, he thought, scanning the car park. What’s taking you so long?

“Tell me, is your cousin Verity still seeing that...woman?” Ruth asked suddenly, in a lowered voice so even her mother, who was gathering up her designer carrier bags from the boot, might not hear her. “Of course you’ve been so ‘well occupied’, you might not know. Especially if she were keeping it a secret…”

Ross tried not to let his anxiety show on his face.

Verity’s announcement to her father at Christmas had not gone well. Charles had grown silent when she’d first told him about her engagement to Andrea Blamey, then had excused himself to go fume alone in his room. According to Verity, it was another two weeks before Charles could bring himself to speak to her at all. And when he finally did, he issued her an ultimatum.

She was to stop seeing Andrea or he’d pull his support of the cafe.

Verity was beside herself--furious, humiliated, hurt, but also ready to end her relationship with her father and give up her business for Andrea. But maybe she wouldn’t have to give it up entirely--Uncle Charles owned the building but the business itself was hers alone. It had been profitable for years and she’d long ago repaid any initial loans from her father. If she could just find another location that was as centrally situated and as affordable! Until such a place was secured, she outwardly agreed to her father’s outrageous demands, knowing it would only be temporary.

So just what did Ruth know? It almost sounded like a threat to Ross. But why? Was Ruth willing to widely share what she obviously knew about Verity unless he returned the attention she was bestowing on him? He had no desire to play along. Ruth Teague held no interest for him and he had little regard for social niceties. He could hardly bring himself to remain polite in even the most superficial conversations between neighbours. 

“Mister Ross!” Just then Demelza called out as she made her way across the car park towards them. She must have been inspired in her shopping for she carried not one but four bags. Ross took hope that maybe this tedious afternoon would be worth it if in the end it resulted in a delicious evening meal.

The light breeze suddenly picked up and threatened to whip Demelza’s skirt up with it. She laughed, and even though her hands were full, managed to position the bags so as to prevent any embarrassing wardrobe gaffes.

“That must be the young person you’ve adopted,” Mrs. Teague said, her eyes on Demelza’s long bare legs.

“I’ve adopted no one,” Ross said. “I needed a hand with my stock--and I have more than one farm hand who lives in at Nampara. The girl is old enough to know her own mind…”  He wasn’t sure why he added that last bit. As though he agreed there was something amiss about the living situation he’d arranged for this teenager? He wanted out of this conversation quickly.

“Of course. She looks like someone who would know her own mind.” Mrs. Teague’s sneering face matched her bitter tone. 

That was enough for him.

“Good bye then, ladies. I’m afraid I must be getting back to my stock, my hops, and all that occupies me back at my little farm,” Ross said with a cold smile.  

Then, without a backwards glance, he moved briskly across the lot. When he met up with Demelza, he silently took all her carrier bags in his own hands, then ushered her back towards the truck so they might finally begin their journey home together.

Notes:

I’m of course indebted to Winston Graham’s lines from Poldark: A Novel of Cornwall (and Debbie Horsfield’s s1 dialogue faithfully based on that book) for the title of this chapter and of this whole work (I tweaked the wording ever so slightly).

‘I heard you had – um – adopted a child, Captain Poldark. That is she?’
‘I have adopted no one,’ Ross said. ‘I needed a kitchen wench. The child is old enough to know her own mind. She came. That is all there is about it.’

‘A nice little thing,’ said Mrs Teague.‘Yes, she looks as if she would know her own mind.’

Thanks to xxSparksxx for finding these quotes for me so quickly when asked.

Chapter 20: Just Close Your Eyes

May 2016

“Fuck, it’s still not turning over,” Mark said, as he tried the ignition yet again. The engine spluttered but this time only offered a weak gasp, and despite Mark’s growing frustration, nothing else happened.

“Are you sure?” Keren asked, leaning over to inspect from the passenger seat.

“Of course I’m sure. I’ve been trying for twenty fucking minutes!” Mark replied.

“Don’t get cross with me!” Keren pouted and turned away abruptly.

“Baby, I’m not cross with you,” Mark cooed, “just with the fucking engine.” He pounded his fist on the steering wheel, accidentally sounding the horn.

“Okay enough of this, then,” Demelza interjected from the back seat. Her impatience was growing into desperation and she was certain she’d jump out of her skin if she had to spend another minute in the stalled car alone with these two. “What are we gonna do? I don't know anythin’ about engines but I think we should get help…”

From someone else, she thought.

“She’s right, you know,” Keren added.

The three had spent the better part of the day at a music festival in Looe. More accurately, they had driven down together in Mark’s car, but Mark and Keren had slipped off for all of the afternoon and most of the evening, not meeting up with Demelza again until after 8PM. When they did return, Keren’s hair was noticeably tousled and they both reeked of weed. Mark sheepishly handed Demelza a can of lager as atonement for having left her for so long. 

She took the offering, but hadn’t really minded being on her own. She’d happily wandered the scene people watching, checking out the different stages, and enjoying the music, which was afterall, what she’d come there for. 

“Okay, thanks, mate,” Demelza had said, trying not to scoff at the cheap can of Ashfield. She then nursed it for some time and hadn’t felt compelled to go find another once the beer was finished. Demelza didn’t dislike lager, but unlike her friends, she didn’t feel as though she needed alcohol to enjoy herself. She also knew better than to look to drink as a respite from pain. 

Earlier that spring, Ross had teased Demelza about her mates’ preference for lager, after he’d found cans they’d left behind in the rubbish bin by the barn. “Lager is for kids, IPA is for adults,” Ross had said. “It’s all about the hops.” He wasn’t angry about the drinking--he trusted Demelza and knew she had good judgement, regardless of what her friends did.

“Well, I don’t love lager, Mister Ross, but I guess I’m still more a kid than an adult because I can’t stand ales of any kind. It’s all about the hops,” she’d replied with a wink, knowing he wouldn’t be insulted. 

That Demelza took no personal pleasure in what was Ross’s life’s work had recently become an even more humorous point. In April, Carnmore Brewery had released its newest creation, a summer ale called ‘Nampara Girl’. The label featured an illustration of a pretty young woman whose strawberry blonde tresses melded into the setting sun behind her. The resemblance to Demelza was irrefutable and had been deliberate, for Tonkin had given the graphic artist a photo of the girl for reference. It was the photo  of Demelza with Ross and Jim taken years before, on the day Carnmore had won multiple medals at the beer festival in Truro. 

And even though it was light and floral, and even though it had been named after her--inspired by her even--Nampara Girl was still an ale, so Demelza had turned her nose up to it. 

“Well, seems our own Nampara girl is too high and mighty to stoop so low--won’t even drink her own ale. Poor Tonkin has no idea just who he’s dealin’ with,” Prudie had laughed. “I’d drink anythin’ named after me…even washin’ up liquid!”

Demelza knew it was funny but paid no attention to the ribbing they all gave her. She knew her own mind, what she liked and disliked, and neither teasing nor flattery would dissuade her.

---

The good times in Looe continued on at the camp grounds but the car park was slowly emptying. It was close to midnight, and while enough time had passed since Mark’s last drink, Demelza remembered in a flash that he’d smoked some weed too, so it was probably better if he did not drive at all. So when Mark turned the key yet again, she held her breath, this time hoping the car wouldn’t suddenly start up. She exhaled with relief.

“Can you ring your dad?” Demelza asked him.

“Well that’s not gonna work. He thinks I’m at your house, Dem.”

“What? My house? In Illogan?” Demelza was not happy to unwittingly play a part in his deception. “Why didn't you tell him you were comin’ here?”

“He wouldn’t want me takin’ the car so far from home.”

“Yeah, well for good reason!” Demelza spat.

“And he thinks Dem is short for Demetrius by the way,” Mark laughed.

“Bloody hell,” Demelza muttered. “Keren? What about your…”

“My mum thinks I’m at your house too. I’ve been over there a lot lately,” she said, looking towards Mark with her sexy eyes again.

This is getting nauseating. Or maybe it’s the lager making me sick, Demelza thought.

“Good god. Am I the only one who hasn’t slept at my house in months?”

Just then another car pulled up alongside them and lowered a window.

“You needa ride?” a deep voice called to them over a thumping bass line but no face appeared from the darkened car. All of Demelza’s senses were on high alert. Horrified, she saw that Mark looked relieved by the offer but she didn’t give him an opportunity to speak.

“No, we’re alright. Cheers, then,” she said firmly, then signaled to her friends in the front seat to close their own windows quickly.

“Aw...why’d you do that, Dem?” Mark asked.

“Why do you think, Mark? That guy was probably a total perv...” Keren started.

“How can you say that? You couldn’t even see him!” Mark said.

“Exactly, Einstein!” Keren scoffed.

“I think I’d better phone Mister Ross...I mean Mister Poldark,” Demelza said and pulled out her mobile.

----

“Demelza? Are you alright?” Ross’s panic was undisguised when he heard her tentative voice.

“No, no. I’m fine, really. It’s just well, we’re stuck in Looe. Mark’s car isn’t startin’ and he’s tried it over and over, only he doesn’t really know what he’s doin’...”

“He’s most likely flooded the engine. Do you need a ride home?”

“I’m so sorry to even ask. He don’t seem to be able to ring his father and I didn’t know what else to do since it’s too far for a taxi…” Tonight she was less worried that Ross wouldn’t be sober--he’d been much better about drink in recent months--but it was rather late. He had a right to just be too knackered to get in the car and drive for hours.

“No, you did the right thing to ring me. I’ve always told you that.” 

There was something in his voice--sleepy, tender, genuine--that made her almost choke up. 

“Please, Mister Ross, please say no if you can’t or don’t want to…” She only just managed to get the words out. While she knew he wouldn’t say no, she couldn’t bear that he might feel burdened by her.

“I can, Demelza. But it will be a while--an hour at least--until I can get there. Tell me, are you safe?”

“Yes, I am,” she said softly.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure,” she said, without any eye rolls or sarcasm. She liked that Ross asked after her safety. He was really the only person who ever seemed to care about it. Of course there was Prudie too, but she fussed about everything and imagined grave and constant peril where none existed. Just the other day she’d fretted when the girl opened a packet of crisps with her teeth.

“And you’ve such good teeth, too!” Prudie had snapped.

“I’m not goin’ to break a tooth on a crisps packet, Prudie,” Demelza had waved her fear away. “Besides there’s far more danger from the hydrogenated oils used to make ‘em.”

“So you admit it, then, there’s somethin’ to worry about after all!” Prudie thought she had proved her point.

At Prudie’s fussing, Demelza usually groaned in exasperation. But tonight, when Ross offered concern, she smiled. He made her feel like she mattered.

“Stay in the car and lock the doors. And if anything or anyone starts to look dodgy, ring 999 straight away,” Ross continued.

“I promise,” she said, and rang off. Suddenly things seemed a little less hopeless to her. Had it not been so dark and if Mark and Keren hadn't been so absorbed in each other, they would have noticed the smile had not yet left Demelza’s face.

“You’re lucky to have such a nice boss,” Keren said.

“Ross doesn’t sound like any boss I’ve ever known,” Mark said  “He sounds more like a cool uncle.”

“No,” Demelza said sharply. She shuddered thinking of her father’s brothers--gruff, bitter, and not to be trusted. She never liked their gaping mouths and cruel eyes.

“A big brother then?” Mark replied, and lit a cigarette. Demelza coughed and wound down the window again. Mark did not take the hint and took another long drag, trying to French inhale--and failing.

“Never had one of those. Plenty of younger brothers though,” Demelza said. “But sometimes--especially times like this--I think of Mister Poldark as kinda...a mate, I guess.” 

Of course he was that. A friend. 

But Demelza had another way, a secret way, she’d been thinking of Ross lately, since Christmas really. Not about him as a person exactly but about him as a presence--and as a body. 

She’d seen him shirtless on countless occasions over the years but the most recent time, on the first warm day of spring, when he stripped to the waist, she saw his chest, his arms, his back covered in dark hair--hair that she now knew was soft to the touch. Hair that curled and led her eye to his belt and continued down where she could no longer see it. She’d felt something shift. 

And it wasn’t just looking at his body that moved her, but his smell--the smell she’d first encountered when she unknowingly shared a bed with him. Then it was a winter smell of smoke and spice, but since the weather had heated up, he left his sweat behind on his clothes or on the bed linens that she sometimes helped Prudie launder. She’d raise them to her nose when no one was around and breathe in the deep, musky smell. She’d never tire of it. Pungent, familiar. Stirring something deep in her that she'd never felt before, yet was recognisable all the same.

Now she found herself thinking about his strong, bare body at regular intervals. At night when she was alone, she’d close her eyes and her hand would slip inside her knickers. Her fingers would wander, then slowly strum her own flesh, and she’d think of a whole collection of things she found arousing--things others might call rude or obscene--mostly things she couldn't put into words. But why should she find words? Who would she speak them to? They were just images really, scenes she’d imagine. What Ross might do to other women or to himself. Or sometimes, she’d even dare to think about what he could do to her.

Tonight in the dark car park, even though Demelza could feel the tingle associated with such musings spread all over her body, she once again pushed away those thoughts of Ross. Over the months, she had found a way to have multiple tracks running simultaneously in her brain. One reality where she lived and worked with Ross without any fuss, the other in which he was a secret fantasy for her private-most pleasure. 

They never intersected. And she was certain they never would.

-----

“Demelza? Is that you up ahead--about 100 yards? I’ll flash my lights,” Ross spoke into his mobile while trying to traverse the field that had served as a car park for the festival. It was poorly lit, there were no marked lanes, and despite someone’s attempts to lay down hay, the ground had grown muddy. Only a few cars remained, scattered throughout the lot. Ross had forgotten to ask her the make or the registration number of Mark’s car and didn't want to go knocking on every darkened window to find them.

“Oh, yes! I see you!” Demelza chirped in the other end of the connection and a moment later, he saw her step out of a silver saloon, waving her arms to guide him closer.

Ross was relieved to see she was wearing a long sleeved hoodie, jeans, and wellies. Practical clothes for an outdoor concert on a spring night, not meant to be alluring or reveal anything. He hated thinking in those terms but ever since that day in Redruth when he’d confronted the boy who’d hurt her, he couldn’t ignore the threats that might await her anywhere. She was less likely now to be lured unwittingly into trouble but if someone was strong enough to overpower her, it hardly mattered if she knew her own mind.

Demelza had grown so much over the past year. Yes, she was taller but also curvier, her flesh firmer, as if the inner will she’d always possessed had suddenly manifest itself in muscle. Regardless of what she wore, it was hard not to notice her.

“Thank you, sir, for comin’ down to get us.” Mark got out of his own stranded car to greet Ross when he pulled up in the Mondeo. The young man was trying to be polite and almost sounded sincere. Another figure emerged from the dark car, a shorter girl with streaked brown hair piled on her head and so much eyeliner she looked like a feral animal. Her gaze moved quickly up and down Ross’s body, then not too subtly she licked her lips. Ross would have laughed at this gesture but had a care not to embarrass Mark or Demelza.

“Listen, Mark, about your car,” Ross began. “I’d take a look at it myself but…”

“No, Mister Ross! It’s too dark and too late,” Demelza objected. 

Ross smiled at her. Actually he’d had no intention of playing mechanic now but appreciated that she’d said the words for him. “I know someone who will tow it home for you at a good rate. I can ring him in the morning,” he said.

It wasn’t really his responsibility but since Ross knew Mark’s father, he thought he should try to be helpful. Mr. Daniel was a quiet hard-working man, strong but not a blustering bully, picking fights at his local, like some of the neighbourhood men. He’d been a widow for nearly ten years and lately--on and off--had been sick himself. Ross hadn’t been told the details but the last time he’d seen the man’s papery grey skin, he got the impression the illness wasn’t something to be taken lightly. Ross suspected that he wouldn’t be thrilled to learn his car had been abandoned in a muddy field in Looe. So whatever Ross was doing now, he was doing it to be a good neighbour, to help Mr. Daniel, and also Demelza, but not out of any pity for Mark.

Ross knew Demelza got on well with Paul Daniel, the younger brother, but didn’t know how she’d come to spend time with Mark, the older son, or Mark’s girlfriend, Keren. Maybe they were just a convenient ride to the festival and that was the extent of their friendship. Within just a few minutes Ross was able to discern he didn’t quite trust Mark. For one thing, Mark’s wild infatuation with Keren was obvious straightaway; no doubt it would cloud the boy’s judgement. There also seemed to be something Mark wasn’t being honest about tonight. But Ross was heartened to see Demelza didn’t trust him either; he could read it on her face. Subtle shifts--one raised brow, a slight twitch at the side of her mouth whenever Mark spoke, the look she shot Ross out of the corner of her eye. 

She was a good judge of character, Ross liked to believe. Yet the dark gloom always returned to his gut when he entertained the possibility that someday, she might form a connection with someone untrustworthy, someone who didn't deserve her. Then again, who would deserve her?

----

“Give me your mobile, my battery is almost dead,” Demelza said to Ross as they rolled north along the empty road. 

“Do you need to phone someone?” Ross asked but handed it over without further question. Driving at night didn't annoy Ross. Somehow the dark road, the bright headlamps, the silence all made him feel focused and alive.

“No, I want to play some music. I made you a playlist on yours. Remember I told you that?” she replied but didn't really expect him to remember everything she’d chattered on about.

“You did? I should make you one of real music,” he teased.

“I already have one of the music you like. Elvis Costello, Nick Cave, David Bowie, the stuff from your teenage years,” she said, and began to scroll through his mobile.

“You know those songs were old when I was a teenager,” he corrected.

“Really? Who turned you on to them then?” she asked earnestly. She’d only briefly wondered about Ross as a teenager, mostly when Prudie or Verity told stories. Had he been serious or did he like a laugh? Was he lonely then too?

“I don’t know. I just found them I guess. I didn’t have a music mentor--like you do with me,” he smiled. 

“Does it make you sad that David Bowie just died?” she asked but then didn’t wait for a response. “Here, Mister Ross, you’ll like this.”

She turned the volume up just a bit, apparently not worried about the couple in the back seat, and began to sing along, adding to the harmony line.

     

     Here we are,  

     Running circles, around around around around

     When nothing's right, just close your eyes

     Close your eyes and you're gone

 

“I’m familiar with Beck, Demelza,” Ross said. He was enjoying listening to her sing and was disappointed when she stopped.

“Really?” she asked.

“What happened to One Direction?”

“Oh eew. I don't like them anymore. I’ve…”

“Grown up?”

“Oh, Mister Ross, you’d be glad to hear there’s a goth tribute band playin’ tomorrow in Looe. Too bad we’ll be missin’ ‘em,” she laughed.

“You didn't want to stay at the festival for the whole weekend?” he asked. 

“And camp? No thanks. I’m not much for sleepin' on cold ground. Plus I’d be a bit of a third wheel with these two.”

“Are they...?”

“Asleep?” she offered.

“I meant dating,” he said.

“They are very much in love,” she replied with a smirk and an eye roll.

“You don’t approve?”

“Do they have to let the whole damn world know? We get it...you’re shaggin’...Get over it!” She waved her hand dismissively.

Ross let out a hearty laugh then stopped, afraid he’d wake them. He was enjoying her company and didn’t want to share this conversation with anyone else. “When did you become so proper?” he asked.

“I’ve just gotten wiser as I’ve aged. I told you I’m sworn off boys,” she sighed. 

“Right. Until you’re thirty. Well, Demelza, you say that now but don’t make promises you can’t keep.”

“Nope, Mister Ross, I’m pretty confident I can keep the ‘no boys’ promise. Thank you so much, by the way. I mean for comin’ out to help us. And it was brilliant of Prudie to lend her car.”

“Well, she doesn't exactly know I have it. I didn’t want to wake her,” Ross said, knowing this would amuse the girl.

He was right. She laughed and settled against the window, but her head remained turned towards him.

“Did you at least have fun today?” he asked.

“I did. It was …” Her eyes finished her sentence for her. 

Ross smiled again. When he saw her acting like a seventeen year old girl, enjoying typical teenage things, it always made him feel happy, and also proud. She didn’t often get the chance, with the mounting pressures of her school work and her unrelenting tasks at Nampara occupying so much of her time.

“But seriously, Mister Ross, for you to drive all the way out here to rescue us, it was more than I could have expected,” she said earnestly.

“Well, Demelza. It’s important for you to have one person you know you can count on for help in difficult times. My dad did it for me once so I figured…”

“He picked you up in the middle of the night from a music festival?” Her brow was knit as she clearly tried to imagine such a scene.

“Yes...it was a Cold Play concert.”

“Oh Mister Ross! Was that an awfully long time ago?”

“Demelza, how old do you think I am?”

This had long been a favourite game of theirs and she always seemed to give different answers depending on the situation.

But Demelza was quite aware of Ross’s age. She knew that he was ten years, two and a half months older than she was--3,726 days older to be precise. Sometimes, especially since March when she’d turned 17, it didn't seem like that much of a difference; other times it seemed an unbreachable gap.

"Let's see, how old are you…Thirty-five?” she teased tonight after offering some mock concentration. “Am I off?”

“Yes, by a bit,” he replied. “But I thought you had a better memory than that. You’ve managed to get it right at least once before.”  

Ross was referring to the chocolate cake she’d made him for his birthday months earlier, in the last days of December. Without prompting, she’d piped an elegant ‘27’ in white icing across the dark ganache.

And the evening of Ross's birthday back in December had been an important one for Ross and Demelza. Ross had tried to escape any birthday fuss and would have been content to act as though it were just an ordinary Tuesday. But Prudie had insisted that they have a cake for him--or more accurately, that Demelza make him one. Ross had to admit that if forced to acknowledge his birthday--and apparently he was being forced--he was at least glad to do it at home, just the three of them. 

“Seems a shame to cut it,” Prudie had lamented then. “Pretty enough to be in a magazine.” 

It was certainly a more attractive result than the mushy booze-soaked Christmas pudding Demelza had improvised during the winter storm just the week before, but Prudie had no way of knowing about that one--she’d never been told the details of that private Christmas celebration.

And when Prudie wandered away to get her mobile to snap a photo before the cake was cut, Ross had whispered to Demelza, “Shall we light this one on fire too?” 

Demelza had struggled to contain a laugh, and then failed. She snorted which then made him laugh out loud as well.

It turned out to have been a much needed laugh of relief. In that moment they both were signaling to each other that any awkward tension after the Christmas Eve bed mix-up needn’t linger on. Indeed months had passed since that cold night together and they never spoke of it. 

But Demelza still thought of it. If she had reached out to touch Ross in the shared bed or cuddled up to him for warmth, what might he have done? Would he turn her away or was it possible that he’d pull her closer? Had she missed a once in a lifetime opportunity?

And now on this warm May night, driving with Ross through the dark Cornish countryside, Demelza wondered again. She looked at him, at his shining dark eyes, at the stubble lining his face--at his handsome face. When troubled, he could appear older than his years but others times, when he laughed or smiled, Ross had a boyishness that took her breath away. She liked that he would play games with her. She never saw him do that with anyone else. 

Don’t worry, Mister Ross, I forget nothin’, she almost said, then realised that was better kept to herself, so instead she said, “I do owe you massively, you know. I’ll make it up to you around Nampara.” 

“You already do everything I need you to. There isn’t much more you could…”

“I’ll cook dinner for a week?”

“Oh, now that’s enticing but you do that anyway. So I suppose you’ve long since paid the debt for rousing me in the middle of the night.”

“I can make you a pie?’

“What kind?” he asked, although they both knew he was not fussy.

“Any berry you’d like.”

“Deal,” he said. 

“Mister Ross, you are too nice to me,” she said softly.

“By working you to the bone and paying you next to nothing?”

“No, you always care about how I’m feelin’, that I’m okay. But maybe...well, you’re like that to everyone, I guess.”

“Close your eyes and go to sleep,” he commanded, but gently. “You have chores early in the morning, you know.”

------

When Ross and Demelza finally pulled into the Nampara drive after depositing Mark and Keren back at their respective homes, it was almost 2AM. It had been a moonless night and the yard was pitch black once the car’s headlamps were switched off.  They made their way in the still darkness, expecting that the minute they were through the front door, a loud greeting from Garrick would shatter the quiet. Both were shocked to find a most agitated Prudie up waiting for them in the hallway instead.

“Where you be off to, in the middle of the night, and not answerin’ yer mobile?” She barked at Ross, her slippered foot tapping full speed.

“What is it?” Ross could see she was upset but it didn't seem to be about her car being taken without her permission.

“Jinny Martin rang, she’s frantic. Been tryin' to reach you too, girl.”

Demelza looked at her mobile and saw the battery had at last died.

“It’s Jim Carter. He’s been arrested for pilferin’ copper pipes and whatnot from the empty old houses along the river near Tregony,” Prudie explained.

“The ones my uncle bought up?” Ross asked.

“No, the ones George Warleggan is knockin’ down. He’s who had Jim arrested. Jinny thinks Jim’s being held in Truro but don’t know for sure. I rang the desk sergeant there but they can’t tell me nothin’. So we don’t know if they got him there or St. Austell--it all depends on where ‘xactly the property was.”

“Demelza, ring Jinny. Tell her I'm on my way!” Ross said no more as he turned and ventured out into the dark night again. 

The front door door closed behind him and he was gone.

 

Notes:

I know, I know. Looe’s music festival is in September not May--and one is advised to wear flip flops not wellies since it takes place on the beach and not on a muddy field.

https://www.efestivals.co.uk/festivals/looe/2016

I took a little license here in order to move things forward. Unless you’d prefer, for the sake of accuracy, that we put off this whole chapter--and what comes next-- for a few more months?

Chapter title from Beck’s “Dream” from the album Colors (C) 2015 Fonograf Records Under Exclusive License To Capitol Records, LLC. Check out the video and lyrics here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oTM3YPTYNo0

Chapter 21: A Human Standard

Demelza came in from the barn and slipped out of her boots. She was beyond tired but even if she could find the time for a little kip, she was too unsettled to fall asleep. She was waiting for Ross to return with news of Jim.

She rubbed her eyes and for the first time in her life, wished she drank coffee. She could use some help staying alert. Hot tea would have to do, so she switched on the kettle and waited, drowsy and impatient. She closed her lids for just a moment and listened for stirrings elsewhere in the house. Somewhere a door closed and a low, almost inaudible grumble flared abruptly, then stopped.

“Prudie?” she called before catching up with the housekeeper outside the parlour door. “Is he...is Mister Ross back?”

“I wouldn’t go in there, Captain Ross is in a right mood,” Prudie said to Demelza in a hushed voice.

“Oh?”

“I am not, Prudie. And I’d appreciate if you didn't speak about me as though I weren’t even here,” Ross’s voice bellowed from inside the room.

“Mister Ross! You’re home,” Demelza bustled in, ignoring Prudie’s warning. “And Jim? What have you learned? Is there somethin' I can do? Some way I could help?”

“You could not.”

“Oh,” she said, a little crestfallen. “Do you want my cup of tea?” she asked and placed her steaming mug on the small table next to him.

“If you must know, this whole matter may be more serious than we thought. It turns out Jim was in a stolen car when he was apprehended,” Ross said ignoring her offer. He was slumped in an armchair staring into the cold grate. Outside the mid morning sky was grey--all the warm sunshine of the last few weeks seemed to have disappeared overnight.

“A car? What?” Demelza couldn’t believe it. She hovered near, aware that she should give him some space but also needing to be close, desperate for more information.

“He hadn’t stolen it of course,” Ross continued. 

“No, ‘course not,” she said.

“But he was driving it--or planning to--I don't think he’d gotten far at all when the police caught up with him. It seems Nick Vargas had stolen the vehicle last week.”

“Nick Vigus? That drunken idiot from the caravan park?” She almost laughed but there was nothing funny at all about this development.

“I don’t think it’s drink, Demelza. The man’s brain is addled from drugs--he’s a mess and has been for years. I have no idea how Jim fell into his company or when, but he swears this was all Nick’s scheme--the man had been making money stealing copper pipes for some time before he brought Jim in. And Nick, of course, is nowhere to be found. He managed to get away while Jim was a sitting duck,” Ross explained.

“Oh poor Jim! But why? Why would he resort to stealin’?” she asked, not really expecting Ross to have the answer.

“That’s another disturbing factor--Jim is going to be a father. It seems Jinny Martin is…”

“Pregnant. Yes, I know,” Demelza said soberly.

“You do?” 

“She told me first--before she told Jim even. Then he told me later.”

“And you didn't think to inform me?” Ross replied.

“Didn't really think it was my place--they both came to me in confidence, you see. Besides I’m not sure why it’s…” she tried to explain.

“My concern?”

“‘Course you are friendly-like to Jim and his family but…”

“My employee now needs wages enough to support a family and yet I can barely pay any wages at all. So he feels he must resort to breaking the law? You don't think that would trouble me?”

“No, no, I see it would. It’s just, well, it’s more troublin’ for them. Especially Jinny. So no, I wasn't really thinkin’ about you at all, Mister Ross,” she said earnestly.

She was right. Ross felt repulsed by his own indulgent rant. He wasn’t the most significant player in this drama and certainly not the victim. His role was to be supportive and he didn’t have the right to wallow in any self-pity.

“But I didn’t know what Jim was up to, I swear!” she added.

“Of course you didn’t, Demelza.” Ross was confident Demelza would have decked the boy if she’d known he was doing something so stupid. 

“Did either one tell you their plans...about the child? I suppose she needn’t go through with it,” Ross said.

“No, ‘course she don’t have to, but she feels she does.”

“Do you think she’s right? What would you do?” Ross was curious.

“Not for me to say. I have no idea what she’s feelin’ or thinkin’,” Demelza shook her head.

“But you and Jim--when you were together--you always used…”

“Oh that’s not an awkward question at all, Mister Ross!” she laughed.

“No, I’m sorry, you’re right, Demelza. It was inappropriate for me to ask that so indelicately. It’s just you’ve always been open with me in the past.” 

“Oh I know, and you’ve a right to inquire, I suppose--it’s always nice to be reminded someone cares,” she managed a tired, uncertain smile. “Yes, Jim and I were careful--doubly so.” She squirmed a bit without explaining exactly what she meant but he got the gist. “But you asked what I would do. I don't really know. I wouldn't want to be a parent while tryin’ to do school--can’t see how you’d be decent at either. And money worries never help in even the best of families, do they?” 

“No, but having money and security doesn’t guarantee happiness either,” Ross huffed.

“Course not,” she said. “I’m just lucky, I guess, that I never felt so strongly for a bloke that I’d want to take that risk...I mean in the moment if we couldn’t take precautions.”

Now it was his turn to laugh.

“What’s so funny?” she frowned. She wouldn’t hide her irritation that he wasn’t taking her seriously.

“You just put your finger on something, Demelza. For you, as a girl, it’s about the boy first and the sex follows. But for the boy, isn’t it about the sex first?”

“No. No, it’s not,” she said, shaking her head. She wasn’t going to let this go. “I know plenty of girls who will chase down any old shag regardless of who’s offerin’ because they just like doin’ it. And I imagine there are lots of sweet boys out there who want the relationship and the love and the cuddles as much as the sex. Why do they need to hide that? I think when you tell boys--that it is just the natural consequences of their biology to be horny, then you’re lettin’ them off easy. Not holdin’ them to a higher--to a human--standard.”

“You are right, Demelza, and you amaze me for being so wise,” he said looking up at her with a weak smile.

“Was just raised right, I suppose,” she said and cocked her head playfully.

“What?” he asked, surprised. 

“By you and Prudie.” Not by Tom Carne, of course--neither of them had to say as much. “You showed me how to use my head,” she added.

She started to leave then turned around and came back to where he sat. She perched next to him again, silently, until the idea that had been coursing through her mind was sufficiently formulated. Finally she spoke.

“Mister Ross...what if they all moved in here, over the barn? Jinny and the baby, I mean. So they have private space together as a family?”

“Would you give up your room?” He dismissed her suggestion. “And where would you go? In a cupboard under the stairs? Back to Illogan?” The last words came out sharply. There seemed to be no way Ross could ever mention Demelza’s family home without inflicting some unintentional hurt. 

She looked away at once and hung her head. The arrow had apparently hit its mark.

“No, but I just figured we could figure somethin’...never mind. It was a silly idea.” She bit her lip.

“Don't say that. It was a kind and generous thought. Of course you needn't give up your room. I promised that you’d have it as long as you'd like.” He put his hand on her arm and rubbed gently, trying to reassure her. But when she looked up at him, he saw her eyes were glistening. She was carrying a burden worrying for Jim and Jinny too--this wasn’t just his concern. Without thinking about it, he took her hand in his and gave it a squeeze.

“I’m just thinkin’ about what you said earlier, about me an’ Jim. It wouldn't have taken much, would it? I mean, it easily could’ve been me in Jinny’s situation,” she muttered.

“But it isn’t, Demelza. And that’s no easy fluke of fate. That’s because of conscious decisions you made. Every day...you make an effort to do your best. Remember that.” He handed her back the tea, knowing she’d want it.

She sighed and with her other hand rubbed her eyes in exhaustion. Then she yawned and Ross knew the crisis had been averted. The brief flash of emotion she displayed just now didn’t irk him--but it did terrify him. He knew he couldn’t bear real tears from her today. 

“You know, Demelza, when Jim is released, I do think they’re better off living with Jinny’s family for the time being, at least until the baby is older. They’ll get more support from them than they could from us. You need to focus on school, not taking care of others. And I don’t know how to change nappies--I suspect Prudie doesn’t either.”

If Jim is released. If… It was still an uncertainty but neither dared voiced the dispiriting thought.

“Mister Ross,” she asked tentatively. “What are you thinkin’ of doin’ for Jim? For his case, I mean. Is there...hope?”

“Hope? I can’t say for sure. But I’m going to see my uncle. I assume he can at the very least recommend a good solicitor for Jim.”

“Thank you Mister Ross. I mean for carin’ for all of us,” Demelza said softly and got to her feet.

“Well Jim and Jinny should be grateful to have such a good friend as you, Demelza. Now go try to get some sleep. I’m most certainly going to need your help later.”

 

Chapter 22: The Way Things Are

Ross stood awkwardly in the grand hallway, while an unfamiliar woman--a personal assistant of some sort--went to fetch Uncle Charles. Ross remembered reading somewhere that the entranceway of a home was supposed to give a good indication of one’s personality and interests. This room, done entirely in white, was overly large, immaculately clean to the point of feeling sterile, and quite boring--an accurate reflection perhaps of these other Poldarks. 

“Mister Poldark will be with you shortly. Please have a seat?” the woman beckoned Ross into the all-white parlour after she returned. Her voice wobbled when she spoke as though she were on the verge of tears. Ross imagined working for Uncle Charles might fray anyone’s nerves, then he recalled she could be his great aunt’s assistant as well. No wonder she was distressed.

“Yes, Ross, hullo then,” Uncle Charles shuffled into the room after Ross had been waiting almost a quarter of an hour. The man’s face looked red and puffy and did not signal strong health. “Nice to have some company, since my family seem to have abandoned me…” What started as a laugh was soon lost in a fit of dry coughing.

“Thank you for seeing me. You are...alone?” Ross asked, though he knew the answer to his question. That day the rest of the house at Trenwith Road seemed very quiet and still, as though all life had temporarily been placed on hold. He saw no evidence of Elizabeth or her young son about the place. He doubted she would have stayed away from company if she were indeed at home. It would be improper to ignore a guest, no matter who he was.

“Elizabeth has gone to London for a few days and has taken the boy with her. A school friend is getting married and she’s helping to pick out the...whatever there is to select. Dresses, flowers...you know the way these things are. Quite amazing, really, all her friends seem to be getting married in the past year alone. Must be the age…” Uncle Charles huffed dismissively.

Ross held his breath and said nothing. The age. He resented such a bald reminder of the gap between Charles and Elizabeth. Attending weddings wouldn’t be an uncommon phenomenon for a person in their late twenties, would it? It might have been so for Ross if he’d kept in closer touch with any of his own mates. Would Uncle Charles even remember a time when his friends had all paired off too? Probably not.

“Perhaps you can enjoy the quiet,” Ross managed to mutter. 

From a decanter on the side board, Uncle Charles poured himself something that looked a rich amber--and was no doubt expensive--then waved an empty glass to offer Ross one of the same. Ross shook his head.

“Uncle Charles, I’m afraid there's been a development…” Ross began.

“Phht! This is bad business, Ross,” Uncle Charles interrupted. “What will come of our family’s name?” he said soberly.

“Uncle?” Ross asked. Surely Charles wasn’t that concerned about Jim Carter’s wrongdoings.

“Verity has continued to see that...pilot...even though she agreed not to. She agreed! She's gone back on her word,” Uncle Charles hissed.

“I'm sure Verity hasn’t really…” But what could Ross say? Lately it seemed Verity confided in no one--not even him--so he had no news to either share or withhold from his uncle.

“What did you know of it?” Charles glared at him, as if reading his mind.

“I didn’t…” Ross stammered and then he thought better of what he might say. “I think you need to speak to your daughter.” 

“Yes, yes, in due course,” he said, then coughed another round of painful sounding rasps; Ross tried not to wince. “So what is this other thing then?” Charles said when he’d regained his composure.

“My farm hand, Jim Carter, he’s been arrested, and I was hoping for your experienced and always sound advice,” Ross said. He hated to scrape and flatter but suspected it was the only way to get his uncle to respond favourably.

“Yes, I did hear about that.”

“From George Warleggan?” Ross asked. He knew his uncle had some sort of business acquaintance with George but had assumed it wouldn’t interfere with his ability or willingness to help.

“No, not him. It was your neighbour, Hugh Bodrugan, who told me. He seemed to find it humorous,” Charles explained. “Tell me what was the actual charge?”

Ross tried to contain the rage that flared in his belly that someone--a stranger really--would find such a depressing situation funny. But he needn’t have been so shocked. Hugh Bodrugan had time and again proven himself to be an uncharitable, privileged arse. Ross could only hope his uncle might be more sympathetic.

“Theft of copper pipes for a start but I don’t know if there will be further charges,” Ross explained.

“Well, the most important thing is to get a good defence solicitor--not some slick hot shot but one with an established local reputation. Who knows the magistrates and is experienced at settling things quickly.”  

“I’m afraid I’m not familiar with any,” Ross replied. 

Would my father have been? Perhaps. Ross couldn’t be sure Joshua always stayed on the right side of the law. 

“Clymer...Jeffery Clymer, that's who you want. I’ll find his contact information.” Uncle Charles nodded his head in satisfaction. “You’ll stay for some supper? Agatha would be glad to see you.”

Even though he hadn’t eaten at all that day, Ross felt no hunger. He glanced at his watch--it was hours before his usual suppertime--then he remembered it wasn’t uncommon for older people to prefer their meals at an earlier hour. He was anxious to be back at Nampara, yet was afraid of appearing rude or ungrateful.

“Forgive me, and please give my love to Aunt Agatha but I am needed…”

“Elsewhere. Of course, my boy,” Charles said, and clapped Ross on the shoulder. It wasn’t an extraordinary move--almost predictable--but Ross felt it to be genuine, a gesture of support. 

And it was the most he could hope for.

----

“Yes, yes a theft like this is usually considered negligible…” Jeffrey Clymer explained casually, leaning back in his leather desk chair.

“Negligible?” Ross asked hopefully. He was already immensely relieved that the solicitor had been able to see him that very day and wondered if Uncle Charles’s influence had anything to do with it. Ross wanted to meet this man himself, and prepare for the worst if necessary, before recommending his counsel to Jim’s mother. 

Without questioning his motives, Ross had stepped in and assumed responsibility for Jim’s case, to take much of the burden off Mrs. Carter. He knew she had counted on Jim as her eldest child and also knew that in doing so, she’d have faced much disappointment over the years. But Ross still also harboured a vague sense that in caring for Mrs. Carter, he was fulfilling a debt of sorts left by his father, Joshua Poldark. Ross couldn’t name it precisely--and wouldn’t face it even if he could. For now it sufficed to take on Jim’s battle and Mrs. Carter’s pain.

The man sitting across from him now, Jeffrey Clymer, was younger than Ross had expected. A man in forties perhaps--a little grey hair here and there but slim and fit. His office was in a historic building in Truro and was furnished with exquisite period pieces as well. A large mahogany desk, towering glass-front bookcases, chintz covered chairs and a settee all looked as though they should be roped off from the public or bear labels that said ‘Please do not touch the museum exhibit’. The only anachronism was the slim MacBook Pro open on the desk and the red fitbit on the man’s wrist.

After only a few minutes in his presence, Ross was finding the solicitor’s words reassuring.

“Negligible when considering the resulting public harm. In comparison to say, theft of metal from a church or monument or rail or public works. There was no threat to public infrastructure anyway so the impact here is quite narrow--these things matter a great deal--since the building was being pulled down anyway.” Clymer looked at Ross and gave a thin smile.

“That’s a relief to hear,” Ross said and shifted uncomfortably in the elegant chair.

“Well, I’d encourage him to plead guilty at the earliest possible stage, to save the court time and money,” Clymer went on.

“Does that help?”

“Of course,” the man said, then began to type something quickly on his laptop.  

“And the process...I know little of these things...will it be quick or will it drag out for some time?”

“In magistrates’ court? Oh he’ll most likely receive his sentence the same day.”

“And what might that…” Ross almost didn’t dare ask.

“Let’s see...lesser culpability, involved through coercion with little understanding, category 3--no significant harm done to persons and goods only of medium value...we’d be looking at low level community order, Band B fine, certainly no custody,” Clymer seemed confident in his appraisal. “And are you, Mr. Poldark, prepared to continue to offer the lad employment and a residence? These things--a sense of stability and your supervision--will matter if he’s ordered probation.” 

Ross tried not to let the irritation show on his face. If it helped Jim in his sentencing to remain at Nampara, of course he wouldn’t say no. But how soon before Jinny and the baby followed? So much for the promises he’d made earlier to Demelza.

“And will you, as his employer,” Clymer continued, “be prepared to give testimony to his character if needed?”

“Of course,” Ross answered at once. How many times had Ross thought the boy an idiot? And how often had he actually uttered the words aloud? Still Jim was a good person--and mostly reliable.

“Local farmer and businessman, former soldier...yes, you’ll fill the bill. But do be sure to dress appropriately--tie and jacket and all that. You know the way these things are.”

Ross looked down at his not-quite-dirty but certainly not-clean jeans, his clunky work boots, his plaid flannel shirt--one of dozens that all looked alike--and had a flash of how others saw him. Most days he just didn’t worry about his appearance. Ross liked that the other residents at Nampara looked beyond the scruff and work attire, and accepted him for who he was. But every now and then, in moments like this one, he’d be reminded that the outside world was not as forgiving.

----

On the day Jim’s case was to go before the magistrates' court, Demelza had helped Ross dress. He had one decent sports jacket, in a deep blue with a subtle nub in its weave. She’d carefully ironed one of his only white shirts and chosen a grey silk tie with a pattern of interlocking knots she thought looked attractive with the blue coat. He was freshly shaven too. She wasn’t sure she’d ever seen his like this, and thought he looked handsome, but knew it wasn’t the time to tell him. She also thought he looked respectable and that filled her with hope.

If anyone could fix this situation it was Ross.

“Don’t worry, Mister Ross. They’ll be sure to let him go. He’s just a boy,” she said, trying to sound cheerful while fixing his knot. 

He had tied it himself but had not done a very tidy job. As anxious as he was to get out the door, he knew enough to pause and let her straighten it for him.

“Hopefully they’ll consider him that--still a boy--when he’s almost 19,” Ross replied.

“No, they’ll see Jim’s young,” she continued, “I think maybe chronological age doesn’t matter as much other kinds of learnin’. You could be a forty year old fool or a fourteen year old sage…” 

“I may have met one of those before,” he smiled softly. 

Notes:

Thanks to xxSparksxx for graciously supplying me with Clymer's name without hesitation.

No doubt I've made some procedural errors in my account of Jim's legal ordeal, though I did try my best in my hasty research. Please forgive these mistakes in the name of keeping this story going. Mainly I consulted these sites (and had to quickly shut my laptop if anyone came across me at work looking up "What to do if you've been caught stealing?")

https://www.sentencingcouncil.org.uk/offences/magistrates-court/item/handling-stolen-goods-2/

https://www.cps.gov.uk/legal-guidance/theft-act-offences

Chapter 23: Everything Precious

Demelza stood in the dusty yard and let her gaze wander toward the road. It hadn’t yet rained but the grey sky wasn’t hiding its intentions--by afternoon the swirling dust would be oozing mud. She was anxious for Ross to return with news though she realised, no matter how often she looked for his truck, he wouldn’t be back from court for hours. She sighed and walked on to the barn where a congregation of eager goats awaited her attention.

She set to work filling the trough with fresh water and hoped she’d be distracted soon by the desperate bleating and warm nuzzling noses. In the pocket of her jersey, her mobile buzzed but when she pulled it out and saw who it, she decided at once to ignore it. Still the caller was persistent and tried again and still once more. She considered switching it off altogether but didn't want to miss a call should Ross have any updates on Jim’s case. And when it buzzed a fourth time she knew she’d have to face it at some point--she might as well get it over with now.

“What is it?” she said trying to hide her annoyance and keep her cool.

“You at Poldark’s still?” her father’s gruff voice boomed out at her.  

What a stupid question. Where does he expect me to be?

“Yeah?” She waited for him to get to the point.

“Well, you need to come home for awhile. I have some...business...outside the home, you see, so you need to be here to take care of things when I’m not around," he began. “Fer yer brothers,” he added.

“Oh?” she asked. This was new--and didn’t sit right with her. When she had left to live at Nampara, her brothers had been much younger. Maybe then they would have needed looking after but certainly not now. And they’d gotten on just fine without her for over two years.

“What’s changed?” she asked.

“Nothin’,” he said a bit defensively. “Just that Nel thinks--an’ I agree--that a girl oughta be at home doin’ the housework fer her own folks and not doin’ farm labour for someone else…”

“Nel?”

“Yeah, she's my fiance.”

“Yer what?” she asked. She was surprised at the news but was more surprised when she realised that she didn’t really care. It was a liberating feeling. This man’s life had become so far removed from her own, and she liked it that way.  

“Yeah, we're getting married this summer and she don't think it right that you’re livin’ with some bloke and not at home."

“I’m not livin’ with Mr. Ross,” she practically spat into the phone. “I have my own room, in the servants quarters in another buildin’ altogether.”

“Still, it don’t look right. Folks might talk--he has you workin’ all hours, maybe at his beck and call, they’ll say he’s wantin’ you to grant him special favours…”

“Favours?” 

“You know what I’m talkin’ about, girl. You an’ Poldark...” he went on. 

“No.” She had no clue what he was getting at and had little interest in reading his mind.

“Sexual favours. I’m talkin’ about sinful ways.”

“Sin?! What are you goin’ on about? Mister Ross is my boss! And I’m just ‘nother one of the help, like Jim and Prudie.” 

Well, not Jim anymore, she thought.

“Hrrrh...” Tom Carne grunted in reply.

“And since when do you care about sin?” she cried. She couldn’t believe this. How could he even suggest that? 

“Just don’t want folks callin’ my daughter a slapper…”

“A what?” She was red with anger. “Seems that’s always been yer own special term for me. And when did you start carin’ what other folks say about me? Or for that matter since when did you ever care ‘bout me at all?”

“Look, it's like this. Nel is tryin’ to get her own kids back--they’re livin’ with her ex and he won’t let her see ‘em just now, even though she’s clean an’ sober. She thinks you off stayin’ with Poldark will make her look bad, you know, if social services got involved,” he explained.

“But if I’m there at home, for you to knock around, social services won’t care?” This was brilliant. He was suddenly worried about the welfare of someone else’s kids. He had never feared social services being called in all the years she lived with him.

“Now look, girl…” 

He never did call me by my name.

Tom Carne was losing his patience and as Demelza expected, the polite facade was slipping away fast.

“There’ll be none of that. Like I said, I won’t hardly be home and you can stay outta my way. I been at Nel’s most nights. Besides you’re grown now and know yer manners so you don’t need such a firm hand.”

Manners? Firm hand? Was that how he justified his abuse in the past?

“And if I don’t come home?” she asked defiantly.

“Well, we could make trouble for Poldark, couldn’t we?”

“What? No! Mister Ross hasn’t done nothin’!”

She had walked right into his trap. Now her father had confirmation how much she cared about Ross, how much this threat had upset her, so he’d be inspired to carry it through.  

“Yeah, we could say he’d been keepin’ you for his ‘use’ against yer will, has been for years,” he laughed a low, mean laugh.

“That’s disgustin’! You wouldn’t dare!” she shrieked. “I’d deny it and besides even if it were true, I’m old enough to consent!” She so wanted to remain calm and measured against his barbed words but she found she couldn't restrain her anger. If they’d been in the same room she would have struck him. Such an accusation targeted everything precious to her.

“Maybe now you are but not when you first started workin’ for him.”

“No! That’s a lie!”

“Or maybe we’d just say that he’d been drink drivin’...”

“Ross would never!”

“But they’d have to check all that out if it was our word against his.” He issued another malicious laugh.

If she had been thinking clearly she would have realised his threats were ridiculous. There was no way he’d risk calling attention to himself by contacting the authorities. He had far too much to lose himself. But she was too overcome with despair to see the situation rationally. 

Oh Mister Ross! she thought. Her father had her cornered; she couldn’t let him hurt Ross even if it was just with empty accusations. 

“So we’ll expect you tonight or tomorrow at the latest,” he snorted. It wasn’t a question but an order. Demelza could hear him spitting on the other end of the line and felt her stomach retch.

“Yeah,” she said and rang off without saying another word. There was nothing else to say. The whole world had just shifted, as if an earthquake had struck leaving the pavement upended and everything around her collapsed. She’d almost felt this way before but then it had only been a threat. Today the destruction was complete.

Now what? Leave the only place she’d ever truly felt was a home? The thought was unbearable. What about Prudie and Garrick and all the animals?

And leave Ross, the only person she’d ever loved in her short life, who’d shown her so much care and even tenderness? How could she?

But she thought of her father’s threats again and she knew he was stupid enough to carry them out. Ross didn’t have time to defend himself against whatever lies Tom Carne mucked up nor would he want to bother, not when he was trying to save Jim’s neck. And no doubt Ross would be cross at Demelza for having dragged him into her dirty family squabble. He’d just tell her to get on with it and go home.

He’ll make me go, she thought with utter resignation and tried to swallow the horror that her life at Nampara would be coming to such an abrupt end.

----

Up in her room, Demelza began to shove some things into her holdall then stopped. She hadn’t been thinking carefully about what to pack now and what she should come back for later so she dumped it all out on the bed and tried again. 

Definitely her school books--she couldn’t leave those behind. Exams were coming up. Maybe she’d just start with a change of clothes for a few days and not aim to take everything straightaway. She was hopeful that she could come back and get the remainder of her belongings--maybe even visit. Perhaps she could eventually come back just to work, not to live, once school was out for the term. 

She scooped up a pile of t-shirts she wore in the stables and set those aside for later. Then remembered she’d stupidly forgotten to pack any underwear and opened her top drawer to gather what she needed.

In recent months she’d acquired a few matching sets of bras and knickers, ones that she felt were more adult. Originally she saw some that she fancied while out shopping with Prudie, but remembering the emphatic objections to Demelza’s bikini a few years back, she hadn’t dared to purchase them with the housekeeper looking on. These new ones Demelza had ordered online. She was relieved that she had been the one to bring in the post when they arrived and hadn’t had to explain to Prudie--or worse, to Ross--what was in the package addressed to her.  

Her favourite set was a beautiful iridescent blue green--the colour of the sea in Nampara Cove in summer time. They were trimmed with stretchy black lace and it was that contrast--bright and dark--that intrigued her. She liked the way the bra lifted her breasts ever so slightly and for the first time in her life, gave her the appearance of cleavage. The knickers had delicate stitching along the edges and while sexy, still covered most of her bum. She thought them tasteful not trashy like the thongs she knew Jinny--and Jim--liked.

Suddenly the pants seemed too fine to take to the dirty Carne household, too secret to risk being exposed by her brother's’ prying eyes. And too much of a reminder of what aspirations she had left behind.

Just what had she hoped for? She’d never admit that, not even to herself.

Her hands lingered on the smooth satin and she bit her lip as conflicted thoughts raced through her mind.

Impulsively she shed her jeans and pink cotton knickers, and wiggled out of the sports bra she’d been wearing under her grey jersey. After she slipped into the blue green silky underwear she stood for a moment alone in her quiet room. She dared not look in the mirror. It wasn’t about how she looked, but how she felt. 

Special, indulged, worthy of something pretty. Worthy of love.

This wasn’t for anyone else but for her. But it didn't feel right in the moment to hide these under her work clothes. Instead she searched out her favourite lightweight white blouse, made of soft cotton lawn, tailored just a bit with little pin tucks that flattered her waist. Then she pulled on a mid thigh length floral skirt, something she’d found recently at the vintage clothing shop in Perranporth. It was constructed of several layers of sheer floral-patterned chiffon that she'd assumed was just rayon but later when she read the label, discovered was actually silk. She’d never felt anything so delicate and when she spun around or moved swiftly, the skirt would swish and flow like a dancer’s costume. She’d also learned, to her embarrassment, that she needed to avoid wearing it on windy days. Today the fine fabrics gently caressed her skin, and unlike her usual attire, both garments begged to be touched.

Now she did venture back to the mirror. Pleased by how the black lace trim of the bra subtly showed through the semi sheer blouse, she unbuttoned another button and smiled. She fumbled for the plastic case that held her small collection of cosmetics and went to work.

Sometimes she wore a little mascara to school but not much else. And she had few occasions to get really made up--not since she’d gone to the disastrous dance with Jim, really. Even when she went out with other boys, which was not very often, she preferred to stay natural and not bother. Now she put on dark lipstick and also smokey eye shadow and liner, and even though she lacked experience, wasn’t displeased with the results.

Her last indulgence was to pull out the black heels that she hadn’t touched for over a year and slip them on her rough bare feet.

When exactly would be the next time she’d have a chance to dress up, to care about her appearance, to feel good about herself? She couldn’t say but imagined it would be in the distant future, not until she broke free from her father and managed to leave his home for good. Oh the jeers she’d have to endure were the Carnes to see her preening, calling attention to her looks! No, the only way to survive in that household was to become invisible. Again.

Demelza laid on her back across her bed and closed her eyes. As bereft as she was, she wouldn’t break down and cry, but she did suddenly feel very tired. She stayed there, motionless, while the room grew dim around her.

 

Chapter 24: Shattered

When Demelza woke, the room had darkened and the dull grey light that snuck in through the blinds--what was left of day--offered her no clue what time it was exactly. Rhythmic tapping on the metal roof of the machine shed across the yard signaled that the rain had started.

Reluctantly, she sat up and looked at her mobile--it was later than she thought. The stock were taken care of but Garrick needed feeding. She hoped he was in the snug kitchen and not out roaming the wet fields. Either way he’d be vexed she’d ignored him all afternoon.

Oh Garrick! She recalled in a flash that the neglect was bigger than just one afternoon--he’d be further heartbroken in a few hours when she left him forever. She’d better go attend to him right away.

She began to kick off the shiny black shoes still wedged on her feet, then thought better of it. Why not keep them and her other special clothes on just a little longer? It was a decision she immediately regretted when the spiky heels sank in the mud as she darted across the yard to the house.

“Listen, my friend, I have some bad news,” she said to Garrick, who met her at the kitchen door.  He seemed to read her mood and rested his head plaintively on her lap when she crouched down to give him a cuddle. She knew the dog was better off at Nampara--it had always been his home except for a few tumultuous weeks early in his life and he would have no recollection of that time. He’d be happier here--and also safer. There was just no debate when she framed the question that way.

Demelza recalled she’d set aside some chicken hearts for him, buried in the back of the freezer.  She hated the way they smelled when cooked and there was no time to defrost them, so he’d have to take them as they were. Of course he didn’t mind and barked joyously at this unexpected treat.

“Okay, this is the last one for now, my love, but I’ll leave a few quid for Prudie to buy you some fresh scraps from Trembath next week, ok?” 

He wagged his tail as if he understood her promise.

She wiped her feet carefully on the mat by the door then slowly shuffled out of the kitchen and wandered through the empty house. She didn’t have a purpose in mind but if she had stopped to reflect, she’d have realised she was saying goodbye. She ran her hands along the rough walls in the hallway and listened to her heels click on the floors underfoot. She entered the parlour and felt an odd pressure building in her chest.

There were so many memories associated with that room and all of them included Ross. In the growing dim she was reminded of last Christmas Eve and how they’d fashioned a celebration together--a little brightness in the cold and dark.

Now Demelza wished Ross was there with her. Maybe together they could find a way to make the most of this situation, to raise a glass even, to wish her well.

“I believe it’s customary to toast when an employee leaves after years of service,” she imagined him saying. 

Wistfully, Demelza walked over to the cabinet against the far wall to survey what was inside. The overproof rum was long gone but there was a bottle of red wine already opened. She pulled the cork then filled one of the small crystal glasses that she’d never actually seen used but had always just assumed were left by some other Poldarks.

How would Ross remember her--would he recall she had been helpful? Or would she soon be forgotten as a pesty headstrong nuisance?

“Cheers,” she whispered aloud then took a sip. It was nice--far nicer than the stuff she usually drank with her mates. She tasted cherries but also fallen autumn leaves. Intrigued she took another sip then laughed.

How ridiculous she must look, dressed as she was, sitting in Ross’s parlour, drinking his wine from his mother’s glass. What if he were to return home and find her like this? But would it be the worst thing if Ross’s last memory of her was her looking her best? Feeling her best?  

She took another drink and closed her eyes. 

Then, in horror, she recalled they had guests coming to occupy the house that weekend. 

“Fucking hell!” she cried. Poor Ross. It was still a few days away but it was the last thing he needed after all he’d taken on with Jim’s case. And Prudie would be hopping that she’d have to do all the preparations herself. Demelza put the nearly empty glass down and thought about what she could do now to get things moving.

She could hoover the parlour and the hallway, make sure the guest room at the far end of the upstairs hall was in good shape, maybe launder the guest towels. No use stripping Ross’s bed or cleaning the upstairs loo yet, since he’d still be occupying his own space tonight and tomorrow morning. That would need to be done last minute, just hours before the guests arrived. It wasn’t that Ross was untidy but they had a reputation to maintain. Demelza always eagerly read the comments guests left online and was pleased to see Nampara Farm was rated as “sparkling clean.” It was one thing she could do that directly helped Ross’s financial situation, and she did so with pride.

She should also make a list of tasks to be done and what needed to be gotten from the shops. Even with explicit instructions, Prudie would probably still get it wrong.

“Why you puttin’ a whole bowl of lemons out fer them?” Prudie had asked last time they had visitors.

“They're not to eat, Prudie. Just a centerpiece. It’s bright and cheerful,” Demelza tried to explain.

“What’s wrong with the apples and pears, then?”

“Oh good god! Look at the brown spots--they've gone all soft. Fruit flies don’t really add to the ambiance you know!” Demelza had laughed.

“Ambiance? Here? At Nampara? Hmm….” Prudie had left the girl to her work.

There were other details too that Demelza had picked up over the months of hosting guests. She stacked her horse magazines neatly on the table in the parlour and filled a basket with folded blankets on the bench by the fireplace. On the pegs near the front door she hung bright yellow macs in various sizes that she’d scrounged from their cupboards. They were old--some seemed to have been Ross’s when he was a boy--but clean and made the rainy weather seem less discouraging. 

Demelza also liked specific scents associated with each room. Crushed lavender buds were placed in the bathrooms and bedrooms, traces of fragrant wood smoke and furniture polish remained in the parlour, and the kitchen--well, as long as it didn't smell like rubbish, she considered that a win. Last time she’d had a chance to bake which filled the house with the most inviting aroma but that wouldn't be happening today.

Demelza hauled out the vacuum and quickly went to work in the parlour. She had mopped the floor just the day before when Garrick had come in with dirty feet--the rich scent of the wood soap still lingered on the old planks. It was really just the flagstone near the hearth and the doorway that needed attention today. The debris--sand and grit--crackled as it was vacuumed up, a sound she'd always found satisfying. After she’d done the floors, she ran the hose over the sofa and left the cushions looking fresh. Now if only she could keep everyone out of the room until Friday afternoon. 

Then she laughed, remembering her attire again, thinking she must resemble some sort of 1950s housewife, as she moved about her housework in full make-up and high heels. All she needed was a martini and a lit cigarette to complete the look. Well, she could do without either of those. But that did remind her that these guests might be smokers--they often were.  Last summer Ross saw how upset it made her to find stray fag butts left lying around where the chickens could peck them and had since put out buckets of sand in the yard to be used as ashtrays. 

Demelza liked the folks who coming--an Italian couple who had stayed just the year before. They’d been so kind to her then and their joy had been infectious to all the Nampara residents.  Even Prudie drank a wee glass of grappa with them and laughed as they told stories and sang. Last time they’d come alone, for their honeymoon, and this year they were celebrating their anniversary by bringing some friends and family to see their beloved Cornwall. She was sorry to miss them and expected it would be quite the party.

Maybe they’ll be able to lift Mister Ross’s spirits, she thought, then returned to the kitchen to finish the laundry she’d started.

----

“Demelza?” She barely heard Ross call over the roar of the tumble dryer, nor had she heard the truck and the front door open and close. She gasped, and as much as she had longed for Ross’s presence earlier, now she felt unprepared to see him.

She tiptoed through the hall, keenly aware of the strange sound the heels would make if she strode in as usual.

“Demelza?” Ross repeated but didn't turn around as she came to the doorway. “Is that you? Fetch me the…” He caught himself and sighed. Yes, they both knew the rum, the whisky, and all the other spirits had been dumped out at Christmas. An impulsive move that perhaps he regretted in this moment. “Never mind,” he muttered and yanked at his neck tie. 

He’d already shed his sports coat and Demelza was able to see just a bit of dark chest hair peeking out at his collar, as well as the perspiration marks on the white shirt. It had no doubt been an arduous day.

“What is it?” It was almost a whisper. She also noted--not with frustration but resignation--that he’d tracked mud through the hallway and onto the parlour floor.

Ross laughed but it was a dark and bitter laugh and signaled right away that what was to follow would not be good news.

“Jim didn't come before the magistrates today. It was his good fortune to have a district judge there to sentence him.”

“Is that bad?” she asked, half holding her breath. She sensed the sarcasm in his voice but didn’t want to face what might mean. 

He didn't answer her questions directly but stared into the empty grate.

“Because Nick Vigus was never found and could never back up Jim’s claims, Jim was charged with vehicle theft as well. We were completely unprepared for that and he pleaded guilty to that too.”

“Oh.” 

“And because of that additional charge they rethought his culpability on the metal theft and he received one year.”

“A year of what?” she asked naively. 

“Custody. He’s going to jail, Demelza. For a year--that’s the maximum the magistrates’ court can give--technically it’s two six-month sentences back to back---one for the pipes and one for the car.”

“Jail? Really?” She immediately forgot that a moment earlier she'd felt apprehensive about seeing Ross again and moved closer. Nothing else mattered now but Jim.

“Dartmoor,” Ross replied.

“What? Dartmoor?! Like he’s dangerous or somethin’?” Demelza had an uncle who’d been at Dartmoor for GBH. He was about as different from Jim as humanly possible--this had to be a mistake. 

“He’s been determined a flight risk because Nick Vigus is still out there presumably.”

“Wait? So they didn't believe Jim about Nick bein’ behind this but they’re willin’ to believe Nick could be waitin’ around to help him escape? Mister Ross, that don’t make sense!” She looked to him for some sort of answer but Ross was unmoved by her dismay and continued to lay the grim facts at her feet.

“Oh yes and he’s been given a £3000 fine.”

“Three thousand pounds? That’s enormous! For thievin’ some old pipes?”

“Yes, all this over George Warleggan’s rubbish.” He finally looked up at her. His arched brows wanted to make a joke but his lips, pulled thin, accepted the bleakness of this reality.

“Can they do that? Bring in a judge instead of the magistrates?” she asked.

“It’s not unheard of for ‘complex’ cases. I wish we’d had some warning though. If he’d known and taken his chances with Crown Court he might have had a better result with a jury. But it was my advice that led him to this…”

“No, Mister Ross, you can't say that,” she tried to comfort him. “You were only tryin’ to help! You didn't tell him what to say in court, and you can’t be held responsible for what Clymer told him. You only found him a solicitor out of your kindness.”

“Why did I think I could trust my uncle, of all people? And I have no idea how Jim will pay the fine or how I’ll pay for the solicitor.”

“Are you takin’ that on?” she asked.

“Again, Demelza, it was my idea,” he said darkly.

“Oh poor Jim. He won’t be able to…” She stopped herself but they both knew what she meant. The boy was silly, unreliable, and weak--he would have a difficult time managing the routines of prison life. Unless he hardened--he’d just have to harden.

“Does his family know? Should I ring Jinny…” She started to silently turn around.

“Jinny knows. And Prudie is with Jim’s mum now,” Ross explained.

“Prudie? When will she be back?”

“Don't worry, you needn’t make me any supper, if that’s what your thinking,” he scoffed.

“No, no that’s not what I was thinkin’ but there are things easily warmed up if you change your mind.” Her head hung. It would have been fitting to make Ross one last meal before she left but she’d been too selfish to see that, hadn’t she? And now she had a bigger problem--she’d been counting on Prudie for a ride to Illogan tonight.

“What is it then?” His eyes had a darkness, an impatience she hadn’t seen directed at her in some time, years really, and even then it had always been rare.

“Nothin’...I just needed a ride home. I was gonna ask Prudie but now I’ll take the bus.”

“Nonsense. It’s raining,” he began, then shook his head in disbelief. “Wait? Illogan? Tonight?”  

He wasn’t quite asking why, so she wouldn’t tell him all the details. He most likely didn't really want to know, he just didn’t want to be inconvenienced.  

He probably thinks this is just some fancy I’m having, visiting my brothers on a whim.

“My father asked me to be home tonight…” She kept it simple.

“Well that’s helpful of him,” he muttered sarcastically.

A lump the size of one of the boulders on Hendrawna Beach rose in her throat and she felt certain she’d choke instantly. Thankfully it passed but as she opened her mouth, still uncertain of what words would come next, Ross spoke first.

“Get your things. I’ll drive you now.”

And so, just like that, it was all over. In a flash. No toasts, no heart-felt goodbyes, no discussing plans for her transition. Just a hard stop to what had been a long, strange dream. The dream of a normal life, of a safe place to breathe, of a world where she mattered. 

She thought she should probably try to explain to Ross that he’d be caring for the animals the next day since she might not be back for some time, and since Jim was definitely gone. But she knew better than to pile it on him now. She’d text Prudie later and tell her. No doubt there was some other neighbourhood kid who could take on her work. It wasn’t that she was anything special.

She was certainly replaceable.

She turned and walked towards the door but this time did not soften her steps and the heels clicked conspicuously on the flagstone.

“Demelza, what are you wearing?” Ross asked abruptly.

“I was just tryin’ some stuff on...in my room and then I came to feed Garrick…”

“Is this really the time for dressing up? For laughs? I thought you had more sense than that, tonight of all nights…” He shook his head, his brow furrowed. The anger was contained for now but anyone could see it bubbled under the surface. 

The first layer of the accusation--that she was a silly child--was bad enough. And he thought her, in her best clothes--her favourite clothes--laughable. But regardless of his words, the delivery could not have been more bitter and that’s what cut her to the quick. 

“I wasn't playin’,” she managed to mumble.

Then Ross spied the wine glass on the table and indignantly rose to his feet. 

“Yes, I can see you weren’t. So what is this all about then?” His eyes, black and sparking, were fully trained on her now. He opened his mouth just enough so she could see his teeth clenched together, his jaw muscles flexed. 

How was it that just this morning he looked like a clean cut gentleman and by dusk he’d resumed such a scruffy, unshaven look? And how was it that earlier today he’d looked at her with warmth and care but now appeared a heartless beast?

She darted over to the table and picked up the glass. She didn’t dare hide it behind her back--it was pointless now, she couldn’t deny she’d had the drink--but she felt protective of it all the same and clutched it to her chest as she sat down defiantly in the chair.

“It was only wine and I thought maybe you wouldn’t mind if I had just the one glass,” she tried to explain.

“Demelza!” He spat her name and it came out a curse.

“I was alone an’ worried an’ I thought…”

“Apparently you didn’t think at all. I assumed you had a better head on your shoulders. Put it down…”

Not just silly, now she was stupid. 

She bowed her head and, for some stubborn reason, grasped the little glass tighter to her. 

On any other day she would have stood up to his hypocrisy. How many times had he himself offered her a drink? Or had she put him to bed whilst he was stumbling drunk? And on any other day, if she were to call Ross on his faults, he’d likely hear her and even apologise. But tonight there were no words that could reach either of them--they were both too broken and raw.

“Put it down, I said!” Ross now snarled like an angry dog, ugly specks of spittle foamed at the corner of his twisted mouth. 

She didn't hear his words at all but shifted at once into a protective shell she hadn’t had to employ for years--apparently the instinct wasn’t lost. Her ears pounded and everything felt hot as blood pumped swiftly to all her muscles. She’d be ready for flight--or fight--if necessary. What her mind wanted no longer mattered.

He stepped closer to her in the chair and she closed her eyes. She could feel his presence, hear his breathing--smell him even--as he towered over her. His hand reached down and snatched the glass from hers, but in the process the last drops of red wine dribbled down her front.

She opened her eyes to see the look of surprise on his face and the glass slip from his own shaking hand. The sound of the crystal smashing on flagstone seemed to rouse her back into full consciousness. Her first thought was for the floor that was now even further sullied. Then she looked down at the blouse.

It wasn’t a large stain--just three red dots, like blood from a finger prick--but they stood out on the delicate white fabric. Tears came into her eyes and despite her efforts to blink them away, they beaded and fell down her cheeks. She found the strength to raise her hand and wipe them away with the tips of her fingers.

“I shouldn’t have done that,” he stammered. He took a step backwards in horror but then to avoid the broken glass, stepped forward again. He crumpled into the chair next to her so he was closer to her eye level.

“I’m sorry, Demelza,” he said, gripping the armrests for support.

“You shouldn’t have spoiled my top…” she snuffled. “It was really fine.” Somewhere she had the idea she should try to address the spots before they set. What got out wine--salt? Bicarbonate of soda? Prudie would know. She tried to stand up, to move away from him, but suddenly was sitting beside him again, her head flung against the back of the chair. The tears returned.

The blouse was unimportant--she was the problem. She wasn’t worthy of something pretty--or worthy of love. What more proof did she require?

“Yes, it is, and no, no, I shouldn’t have done that. I’m sorry,” he said again. Then he reached over and touched her head, tentatively as though he recognised he had no business to offer comfort, having caused her distress in the first place. He tucked a wayward curl behind her ear, a friendly sort of gesture that might have been well received earlier but was not easily interpreted now. “Demelza, good god, please don’t think me a monster. I’ve had a hellish day and I’m not myself.” 

Nor am I, she thought. But who was she? Could she ever be sure? Or was her existence entirely dependent on how others saw her? And now it was confirmed how Ross saw her: a wayward child needing to be scolded. She was ashamed and exhausted. She sniffled then sighed, relieved that the latest rush of tears was stopping--for now at least. But she suspected they could return at any moment and when they did, she’d be powerless to ever stop them again.

Ross gave a short sharp exhalation and Demelza looked up at his face.

She couldn’t read him. That was a change. His eyes were still dark but the anger was gone, replaced by something else. Something new. He looked scared, vulnerable even, and lost. Then he seemed to regain his focus and his gaze met hers before wandering down her face, his eyes settling on her lips. He licked his own, presumably without realising he was doing so. This caught her off guard, and it was only when she stood up and he stood up with her, grabbing her wrist, that she got an inkling of what was happening. 

Or had she? She had to be wrong, she just had to. He couldn’t really looking at her like that. So what did he want then? 

Oh god, what have I done?

They stood for what felt like an eternity, his fingers wrapped around her wrist holding it aloft, both saying nothing while the air in the room grew heavy with charge.

“Mister Ross,” she finally said. It was both a question and an invitation.

He leaned forward and opened his mouth, perhaps to speak. Then, abruptly, he raised his other hand and shook his head, like he was arguing against something--or someone. He dropped her wrist and turned away.

“I’m going upstairs to change my clothes. Then I’ll drive you home to your father, Demelza,” he said solemnly. “Go get your things now.”

 

Chapter 25: The Stranger

Ross drove the black pickup slowly south, trying to ignore the jarring squeak that followed each slap of the wipers on the windscreen. It was still early evening but outside was as dark as midnight. The rain that had begun earlier in the afternoon was now a deluge, pounding the roof and obscuring his vision so he could only see a few yards of the road ahead. 

Demelza sat beside him, her eyes closed. She’d folded her denim jacket into a sort of cushion that she placed between her head and the window. Since they left Nampara she’d said almost nothing. 

When Ross had come downstairs after changing from his court clothes, she was already standing by the front door, a bulging holdall at her feet. The curious high heels were gone and instead she wore flat, strappy sandals. After one last hug to Garrick, she’d placed her jacket over her head and darted out in the rain without waiting for Ross. He could only imagine that for some untold reason, she was impatient to get home that night. 

But the drive to Illogan, which should have taken only twenty minutes, was dragging on. Where the road curved east, Ross slowed the Ford Ranger even more and managed to make out a familiar, partially-covered bus shelter just to his right. Four years earlier on another rainy night, he’d stopped there to help a little stranger in need. 

A stranger. 

He looked to Demelza, her head bent so he could only make out the curtain of strawberry blonde curls that hid her face. The urchin may have been long gone. But this person? Just who was she tonight? He felt as tentative as he had all those many years ago.

Must my whole life run in circles? he thought to himself. Only now she’s cleaner and in some ways I am too--at least I no longer have a bottle of cheap whisky hidden under my seat.

He’d also long since replaced the engine’s head gasket and could at least take the vehicle farther from home without anxiety. But in such rain, this faulty wiper had him on alert, and when the truck splashed through a massive puddle, blinding him long enough to cause serious worry, Ross made the decision to pull over. He knew there was a car park just ahead so he made an unexpected turn.

“What are you doin’?” Demelza asked when they stopped in the empty lot. Her eyes were wide and bright. 

“You may have noticed I can hardly see out of the windscreen--that wiper blade is utterly useless,” he replied. His attempt at a playful tone had failed. It was hard to hear over the pounding rain and with the engine off, everything was dark around them. Whether the lamp posts at the edges of the car park were just burnt out from neglect or if the power had gone out in the whole village, he couldn’t tell.

“There’s a replacement blade in the storage shed. Still in the box. Been there for ages.” Demelza’s voice was flat, matter-of-fact, and not trying to engage a response. She wasn’t saying ‘I told you so,’ as she might have teased only the week before. And she wasn’t offering to help, as she might have hours earlier. There was an odd detachment. No, she wasn’t quite a stranger, but all the same, he didn't recognise this Demelza.

Ross weighed his options. If he stepped out to adjust the blade, or even wipe down its warped edge, it could make a difference. Or it might just be better to wait a few minutes--perhaps the violence of the downpour would soon diminish. But impatient to get moving again, he couldn’t resist the impulse to do something, even though he knew he’d get soaked.

“Demelza, in the glove box. I think there are some old take away serviettes,” he ordered. 

She said nothing but found a wad and handed them over, then shoved the rest of the mess back in, struggling to close the latch. If she spied the packet of cigarettes or the condoms also in the jumble, she didn’t let on.

Ross took the serviettes from her and held his breath, steeling himself to leave the dry truck.

He didn’t last long. Only minutes later he furiously yanked open his door and ducked back inside. He’d moved quickly but the slanting rain had made his seat wet nonetheless. It hardly mattered, his own soaked clothes clung to him uncomfortably; he pushed his wet curls back from his forehead and grit his teeth in frustration. He was drenched and had no confidence his efforts would even make a difference at all.

Demelza still said nothing and didn’t even look up as he slammed the door against the storm. 

But when Ross glanced over to the passenger seat and saw that she’d unbuttoned her blouse, he may as well have taken a blow to the head. In a flash, he completely lost his bearings. 

The delicate white fabric fell open and the green-blue silk she wore underneath was exposed. Black lace strained against the swell of her breasts, outlining and embracing her contours. 

Ross had never looked at Demelza’s body like that before. Sure he’d noticed her curves but he’d accepted them as part of her overall growth. Never had he contemplated the individual parts or considered how her flesh had mass and weight of its own and could be touched--and held. He felt a compulsion to reach out now, and with his own hand, feel this Demelza in front of him. Instead he spoke.

“What are you doing?” he asked. Of course it came out too sharply and in an instant he could see her unraveling before him.

“I’d buttoned it wrong earlier and just noticed now.” She didn’t hurry to finish what she’d started but instead hung her head and put her finger tips to the darkening red spots that had been his doing. 

Why hasn’t she changed her blouse?

“Demelza,” he said, and immediately regretted opening his mouth at all, for even though his tone had gentled, it was enough to destroy the fragile calm she’d managed since they left Nampara.

Immediately tears came again, and this time he noticed the way she brushed them away, using just the pad of her fingertips to delicately wipe under her eyes. 

She’s wearing makeup and she knows how to avoid smearing it while she’s crying. Another way she has grown, Ross observed.

Oh, he’d seen her cry before. Maybe five times in not quite so many years. What once was rare when she was little had become a bit more common as she got older. And Ross had learned over time to read the specific emotion behind her tears in each circumstance. Fear of social services, grief for a dead cat, anger at an unfaithful boyfriend. Then earlier tonight, there were the shocked and disappointed tears at a ruined blouse, not to mention the hurt feelings courtesy of a cruel and clumsy boss.

But this moment was different. Ross could sense it at once. These were tears of anguish, despair, pain even. Ross knew these emotions well, and felt an almost proprietary relationship to them. These came faster than other tears of hers, silent but bountiful. Where had they come from? They were certainly not about Jim, Ross was sure of that. He watched her for a minute with the cool impartiality of a scientist observing a subject. Then something shifted and he felt anything but neutral.  

It was his habit of wanting to take on a responsibility for others--and to do it alone--that kicked in, and he was overcome with the innate need to take her pain from her. 

He reached over and ran the back of his hand down her cheek. The tears were hot but her cheek cold. 

“Demelza?” he said again and put his hand on her shoulder. She seemed to crumple at the touch.

Without hesitating, he pulled her closer to him, across the gear lever, to hold her in his arms and was taken aback at the energy that seemed to course through her body into his.  

Yes, let me absorb your pain, he silently pleaded and pressed her head against him, his broad hand stroking her head. His own soaked shirt clung to him but now everything was wet--her lashes painted tears across his jaw, more tears pooled on his neck and tickled his chest hair, her soft hair was damp from the rain.  

She remained silent but her whole body shook with sobs as she leaned into him. She wasn’t pulling away and he had a moment of relief that perhaps she wasn’t still upset with him.

“Shh-shh-shh,” he whispered instinctively. He pressed his lips to her temple then another shudder from her caused his mouth to slide over to her eye. Her lids remained squeezed tightly shut but large tears leaked out at the corners and tasted salty to him. He continued to breathe softly, close enough to her that the stray hairs that framed her face rose and fell with each exhalation. 

“Demelza.” His lips vibrated on her skin as he said her name again. The tenderness came naturally, from somewhere deep within him, but he was unaware of its effect.  

Instead of soothing the girl, he was destroying her.

Notes:

"Must my whole life run in circles?" is one of my favourite Ross lines from The Angry Tide. Yes, Ross, it must.

Chapter 26: Truths

Demelza’s body felt warm against Ross’s wet chest but she shivered all the same. What he’d at first understood as just the rising and falling of her chest as she silently sobbed, had turned into a steady quiver that she wasn’t fighting. He’d never known her to cede control before. But while ignorant of the cause of her distress, Ross did know to hold her fast to him, and pressed his open palms against her back and her head. He continued to exhale gentle whispers, his lips glancing her cheek.

“Demelza...” He said her name again but this time it was too much for her. 

She was shaking violently now. A whimper escaped her throat--thin and distant but threatening to grow in strength. She could not handle so much softness from him. It called her back from somewhere else--somewhere far away where she felt nothing and thought nothing. Ross’s breath on her face woke her, the numbness began to fade, but in its place anguish spread through her like a sponge soaking up water. She couldn’t shut herself off from the pain and his tender touch only made it worse.

Her mouth opened in a gasp of despair, and to her surprise, caught his.

How his lips had traveled down from her eyelids to her mouth, neither could say. Gently they brushed against hers and neither of them pulled away from this accident. Slowly, his lower lip grazed her upper lip until her mouth opened just a little more. Then he kissed her, this time a deliberate seeking of lips. They shared breath now--each giving to the other. It was enough to reach her and she forgot the pain that only seconds before had filled her like a poison. Instead she grasped at the lifeline Ross was offering her in that moment.

No, this softness was not to be feared--it was no threat to her survival. This was the very reason to live.

“Demelza,” Ross exhaled. It was a plea, a psalm. 

He hadn’t recoiled after the initial contact and instead leaned into it, and kissed her again. And then again. Somehow he felt he was still comforting her by offering this most intimate affection.

And yet there was another part of him, duty bound, thrashing in his skull, reminding him that she was his employee--his teenage employee. And that kissing her like this was the wrong thing to do. It merely confirmed suspicions the neighbourhood had harboured about them for years; all the filthy lies would become true. But when she tilted her face up to join with his lips again, he recognised her wanting--he recognised her--and he lost any footing he might have had. Fighting against this--pulling away and pretending the desire wasn’t there--that was the lie.

It took Demelza a moment to realise what was happening. She’d felt so disconnected from her actions and reactions all night, since she’d had that bitter exchange with Ross in the parlour. She had to remind herself she was really there, close to him, and touching him. What she’d wanted for so long was actually unfolding in real time. But what threw her so off kilter now was not that Ross had kissed her. Had she always known that someday this would happen? Or had it just been the deepest hope? No, what shocked her was the kiss and what it carried, not just who delivered it.

This kiss was different. She’d never been kissed tenderly before, never with such attentive care. Demelza knew at once that things had changed forever and she could never return to who she used to be. And yet this gentle kindness, this slow warmth, woke in her something that was decidedly not gentle. A long-sleeping lioness with an old and deep hunger--she was ready to prey.

Ross’s thumb stroked the side of Demelza’s cheek and her lips parted even wider. He felt her teeth, her tongue, and he pressed against her mouth with a growing rush of urgency. His hands slipped down to her waist and with no prompting, she seemed to know to shift her body over entirely so there was no distance between them. She was on his lap now, straddling him, the steering wheel pressed into her back so she leaned down over him. Her lips--strong but soft-- worked together with his, knowing what they wanted. Long fingers wove into his wet hair and pulled his head closer still.

Good god, her kiss! He should have known it would be so determined, so purposeful. Demelza would never do anything in half measures. He groaned, wanting more, and she responded to his call. Oh, how she knew.

Ross struggled to keep up with his own undeniable arousal that seemed to have come from nowhere. And this girl, this woman, towering above him, she seemed to have transformed from his friend into his lover in a mere instant. A heavy-lidded stranger, drugged by passion, yet she was also so familiar that he felt the two of them were almost of one mind.

He reached down and managed to grasp the lever at his side, sliding the driver’s seat back as far as it would go. 

Pleased to have just a little more room to move, Demelza threw her head back and felt Ross’s mouth travel along her neck and down to her collarbone where he suckled her delicate skin. She wanted to be consumed entirely by him, to feel his lips and tongue everywhere. Now she was quite aware of the moment, and without looking, by feel she unbuttoned the blouse completely. One of his hands slipped around her bare waist and when she opened her eyes again, she saw the other peeling back the delicate fabric from her shoulder. He paused and looked directly into her eyes. His eyes were so dark! And he was so filled with need. A need she knew she could fulfill.

In a flash she recalled the brief encounter in the parlour earlier that night, when Ross had gazed at her face--at her mouth--with a curious look that at the time she thought might have been longing. Yes, she was certain now that’s what it was. But while she saw it and he felt it, he couldn’t face it, could he? Not then. She doubted it had ever even registered with his brain. Then she remembered Ross asleep next to her in the bed on Christmas. How she’d felt such shame at their closeness. She loved him no less then but would never have wanted him like that, under mistaken circumstances. But this, now...this was the real Ross. Her Ross. He was seeking her, he had reached for her--he was being honest with himself and with her. A flicker of terror at the profundity of such a realisation made her tremble. But any fear was quickly overshadowed by her pulsing desire.

“Yes,” she whispered and laid his cheek on the soft curve that escaped the top of the blue-green silk. His nose, then his lips followed, gently nuzzling. Gingerly he traced the outline of the bra with the backs of his fingers until she covered his hand, clasping his palm firmly to her, cupping her breast. 

He took her lead and eagerly held her flesh in his hand, weighing it, as he wanted to just minutes before. The weight of desire. 

She reached behind, to unhook the clasp, but he stopped her.

“It unfastens in the back,” she explained.

“No, leave it on,” he whispered. “I want to see you in it.”

“If you like,” she said softly--a perfect blend of demure, coy, and alluring. She took his finger and slipped it under the black lace edging along the top. 

His eyes darted up to hers then back down to take in her fresh young body. He allowed first just his finger then his whole hand to slide down under the silk, gently stroking the contours of her breast in broad circles. Her bra strap fell from her shoulder, exposing just a little more flesh, and only then did he press his mouth to her.

“Oh...” she gasped and leaned forward into his kiss, then folded back the bra to reveal more of her. Slowly, attentively, his tongue met her nipple. At first he offered gentle suckles that she urged on through her purrs, until his teeth accidentally skimmed the hardening bud and she let out an excited moan.

“Mmm...please!” she pleaded, “do...do that again.”

“This?” he asked breathily, then sucked more vehemently, purposely scraping his teeth along her breast. Her voice, as she named her own desires, was an unexpectedly powerful stimulant and he felt his whole body respond.

“Oh god, oh yes…”

She’d slipped her sandals off, her bare foot wrapped around his ankle. He ran his hand along her exposed leg, over her calf and up to the curve of her hamstring under her skirt. He couldn’t see it but as he felt her leg, he imagined it in his mind. He’d known she was strong--he’d seen these legs in action as she bent and lifted things around the farm, as she gripped the sides of the horse when she rode. Now to touch her, he better understood the power she’d harboured in her wondrous flesh, so firm but also yielding. He gingerly stroked her, outlining the swell of her muscles, while she writhed and shifted to be closer to him, impatient with his gentle coaxing.

He closed his eyes again, surprised by how much she seemed to want him, that her appetite was just as much a factor at play here as his. She was a force to be heeded.

Ross’s hand explored her leg while his mouth remained planted on her exposed breast.

Demelza wriggled eagerly, her nerves twitching, her muscles tensing. She had to move, to keep racing forward, but the only place to go was closer to him. She lifted her weight upward from his lap so he could access more of her body and when his hand slipped under her knickers to feel her backside, she was pleased he was following her cues. 

Of course. They both knew what the other wanted. And where this was going.

She planted a slow kiss on the top of his dark, wet head. She regretted that the rain had tempered his smell--she would have loved to bury her face in his thick hair and breathe him in. Sweaty at the end of a long hard day--she could just imagine his scent! One dark curl that always insisted on breaking free from the rest, dangled teasingly over his forehead now and dripped rain on her face, mixing with the salt of her tears and the lingering traces of his wet mouth on her cheek. 

But she knew where to find other sources of the dark hair that had intrigued her for so long and her fingers began to unbutton his shirt. She put her mouth to the soft curls along his collarbone and slowly her lips and tongue traveled down the exposed chest. Her fingers trembled as they stroked the curves and indentations of his muscular form, then she pressed her own belly to his with a groan of pleasure and relief.

He looked up and moved his hand to her back to once again hold her close to him, his cheek resting on her breast. 

Now she laughed, playful, excited, but still soft, barely audible over the rain hammering the bonnet of the truck. She pulled away then bit her lip as she always did when engaged in a task, and began to unbutton his trousers.  

He’d changed quickly before they’d left Nampara and he hadn’t worn a belt tonight. One less obstacle for her deft fingers, and soon she’d slipped her hand into his opened jeans. He bucked upward at her touch--his arousal could not be disguised. She offered a gentle caress up and down the front of his boxers before she slipped her fingers under the waistband.  There she found another thicket of curly hair and the velvety skin of the iron-stone length that pulsed in her grasp. 

“Demelza, oh god,” he groaned and moved his whole body to meet her hand.

They had so little room and suddenly the constraints were more than just an uncomfortable inconvenience. The cab of the truck was a cage, thwarting their need to fully explore one another. Ross wished he had a back seat to offer just a little more space.

She perched next to him, still half straddling his lap while she stroked him, but he was not content to just sit back and receive pleasure. His hand reached under her skirt and tugged futilely at her knickers. She laughed again and stopped her own urgent mission to help him slide the blue-green pants down her legs until they were off entirely. Then he pulled her back on his lap and lifted her skirt up around her hips. 

Now they could both feel the tip of his erection as he brushed against her soft mound.

“Oh,” she gasped, then rocked gently forward.

His finger slipped between her smooth thighs until he found was he was searching for and her whole body quivered as he explored the inner contours of her wet folds. He could tell she was holding her breath. Then he sought her bud and she hissed, pulling away with a start, before settling back against him.

“Demelza,” he whispered. He wanted to tell her that she felt so good, that her arousal--her readiness for him--was the greatest turn on. He wanted to tell her how much he wanted her and wanted to give her pleasure. But words failed him.

It was she that spoke, her warm breath in his ear.

“Ross,” she whispered. “Fuck me.”

A dusky plea from a stranger.

“Over in the...with the serviettes...” He managed to choke out the words. “There are condoms…”

“I know,” she said softly.

Demelza twisted around and reached behind her to undo the latch but had to move her body off Ross entirely to find what she was looking for in the dark. He was reluctant to let her go and kept his hand on her back while she rummaged about. After handing her quarry over to his eager hands, she lingered in an attempt to close the overstuffed glovebox. But he was ready now and could wait no longer.

With his strong arms he pulled her back and held her hips while she settled her legs on either side of him. She rose up slightly from his lap and his mouth sought her breast once again. 

“Demelza,” he exhaled into her exposed skin then closed his eyes while she took him in her hand to guide him. 

Slowly she sank down, taking him in, and losing herself in a pleasure unlike any she’d known before.

There was no thunder but somewhere not too far away lightning flashed, enough to illuminate the car park and the interior of the truck for just a moment. Yet the dark hadn’t seemed to matter to either of them. They were pushing forward on feel and instinct alone. Daylight would have only revealed the cold truths in front of them--inconvenient facts that, as long as they couldn’t see, they needn't face now.

 

Chapter 27: The Car Park

“Captain Ross? Demelza, where you at, girl?” Prudie shuffled through the dark hallway of the empty house. “What’s all this then?”

She was growing more and more perturbed with each room she entered. After spotting the mud in the hallway and on the parlour floors, she then spied the broken glass, and huffed at someone’s clumsiness. She turned to go to the kitchen and found Garrick sheepishly lying by the hearth.  

“Well? What’s wrong with you, boy?” she asked then saw he’d been sick on the rug.

“So that’s it... whatcha been eatin’, then? What’s that girl fed you now? She’s always insistin’ on givin’ you butcher scraps-- an’ this is always what happens! She never learns, that one!” She grunted with disapproval at Demelza’s choice of treats. 

Prudie was already less than thrilled to have to clean up the dog’s mess when she saw the note on the table and began to skim its contents: Demelza’s father had called her back to Illogan and Prudie would have to prepare the house for the weekend visitors on her own. 

“Bloody hell! I'm to do what?!” she cried incredulously, looking at the extensive list of tasks spelled out for her.

----

Ross’s splayed hands remained on Demelza’s back holding her fast to him. His face was buried in the crook of her neck, his breath warm and moist on her skin. Joined together they’d each found release and now exhilarated, they still breathed in sync.

It wasn’t over.

Only moments earlier they’d sought pleasure in one another, yes, but also answers, purpose even. And to comfort, to soothe another lonely and troubled soul? To freely offer the warmth and tenderness each had to give? Both had seized the chance and found satisfaction there as well.

What came next?

He hasn’t let go, she thought, I’m still in his arms. She threw her head back again exposing more of her skin; his nose grazed along her neck and slowly moved back up towards her ear. What she wanted to do was kiss his mouth again, this time gently and slowly. To let him know what she was feeling, what he meant to her.

Ross. My Ross.

She laced her fingers in his wet hair and as she lifted his dark head up towards hers, she opened her eyes, then cried out in start. Lights on the other end of the car park, moving towards them.

“Someone’s comin’!” Her voice was still a smokey whisper--intimate--even though now she expressed alarm. 

Without saying another word, she scrambled off Ross’s lap and back to the passenger seat. She slipped her bare feet back into her sandals while furiously buttoning her blouse. She missed a button again but didn't take the time to start over. She wound down her window just a few inches to let out some of the warm air that had steamed up the truck’s interior. 

“Demelza, quick! In the glove box….” Ross beckoned vaguely.

She knew what he meant. Without looking at him she handed over more of the serviettes she’d found earlier. She kept her eyes averted while he quickly attended to himself then shoved the offensive wad into the cup holder on the driver’s side door amongst other old rubbish that had accumulated over time. After Ross had pulled up his damp trousers, he used several more clean serviettes to wipe down the windscreen from the inside.  

Seconds later there was a knock on the driver’s side window. They knew to expect it but she gasped all the same.

Demelza saw Ross’s jeans had not been buttoned and threw her denim jacket on his lap just as he wound down his window. The sound of the rain pounding on the pavement roared in their ears.

“Good evenin’. Everythin’ alright over here?” They could tell at once by his officious voice and the torch he shined at them that the man was a police constable. His uniform jacket was slick with rain and his hat was covered with what looked like a plastic shower cap. Without invitation he bent closer to peer into the truck.

He was looking straight at Demelza and didn’t notice as Ross placed his boot over the blue knickers on the floor and carefully dragged them under his seat.

“Oh hello,” she said sweetly, leaning forward over Ross to speak to the constable. “Some night, isn’t it?  We could barely see, the rain is so heavy. We just pulled in here to use our mobile. Can you tell us how far it is to the Illogan Highway?” she asked.

“Oh you’re only a few miles from the Avers Roundabout,” the constable replied. “There’s another roundabout just next to it. Take that to the A3047.” He gave her one more swift look up and down then, satisfied, smiled back at her.

“Your headlamps were off, sir. They workin’ alright?” he asked Ross.

“Yes, yes,” Ross said. “I just switched the engine off to save petrol and didn’t want to run down the battery. You know how old vehicles can be touchy, especially in the rain.” 

Demelza could tell he was trying to sound casual.

“You can follow me out if you’d like,” the constable said. “I’ll lead you to the roundabout.”

“Oh yeah sure. Cheers,” Ross said, and reached to switch on the ignition. The constable nodded and, shoulders hunched, hurried back to his car.

“You were brilliant,” Ross said as he wound up his window. “And saved us any real trouble. Where did you learn to lie like that?”

I don't lie, she thought. You should know that.

“Just quick thinkin’.”

But it had been a wise move for her to engage the constable head on. He’d be looking to her--a young woman parked in a car with an older man--to see if anything was amiss that should concern him. And she’d come across as mature, in control and wasn’t distressed, nor did she seem to be in the car against her will. Her breezy charm was at complete odds with the embarrassment of someone who had only seconds before, engaged in a sexual act in a public car park.

So now what?

There was no choice. A moment later they were driving away, on the road that led south and closer to #22 Wesley Road in Illogan. 

She’d had a moment with Ross--a precious and profound experience--and they had shared it together, connected in the most meaningful of ways. 

And just like that, they were leaving it behind in the empty car park.

Chapter 28: Returned

Ross pulled into an empty spot across from #22 Wesley Road. A wave of dirty water splashed from the gutter over the curbstone onto the pavement but there didn't seem to be anyone in sight this might have bothered. Ross’s hand lingered on the key but he did not shut off the engine. The rain was less heavy now and tapped an erratic beat on the roof of the truck.  

For the last five miles Demelza hadn’t been able to look at him. Doubt and uncertainty over what he might be feeling had crept in and caused her whole body to stiffen. Her holdall, shoved behind her seat, now posed a problem. It would have been easier to get out first, then fold the seat forward to retrieve it, but that would require her to stand out in the rain. Instead she reached around behind her, and in doing so, found she had to twist awkwardly. Suddenly she was quite conscious of her body, her backside and her bare legs in particular, in such close proximity to Ross on the driver’s side. Just minutes earlier he had run his hands up and down her skin, now it felt wrong to be so exposed. She managed to grab the bag then stalled with it in her lap and took a deep breath. The cab of the truck still smelled like sex. 

Ross leaned over to kiss her cheek but she moved ever so slightly, and his lips landed on her head. It was just as well. The gesture was clearly meant to be friendly but was short of any true affection or desire. Those feelings were left behind in the car park, or so she thought. She looked up at him and flashed a brief but sad smile before she grasped the door handle.

“Bye,” she managed to say and darted out into the rain. She hadn't heard his reply and she didn't turn around. If she had, she would have seen that his eyes were fixed on her as she crossed the road and that the truck remained in place for a good five minutes after she had left it. Perhaps if she had known this, she might have been persuaded to go back and talk to him, but instead she entered the house with its crumbling stucco exterior, and shut the door behind her quickly.

She might as well have stepped through a portal to another world.

The lounge was filled with people and voices and noises and light. The Carne brothers and some of their mates were watching what sounded like a football match, playing video games on handheld devices, and listening to loud music all at the same time. The glaringly cold fluorescent bulbs were a shock to her eyes after the dark rainy night outside.

Sam, her middle brother, nodded to her and Drake, the youngest, flashed a smile before both were pulled back to the screen in front of them. Luke didn't even look up.

“Oy, yer here,” one of Luke’s mates rudely called to her. “Good, you can get us some…”

She didn't hear what his demand was and went straight up the stairs to the back bedroom that had once been hers but was now occupied by Luke in recent months. Without turning on the light or changing, she crept into the messy bed and pulled the covers over her, shivering. Her clothes were damp but the chill was coming from inside her bones. She closed her eyes and as the rain angrily splattered against the room’s one window, she tried to fall asleep.

That wasn't easy as the ruckus drifted up the stairs and the bass of CBiz on repeat reverberated through the floor. Lying in the dark if she couldn't sleep, she’d at least try not to think. She considered putting in her earbuds to listen to some music of her own but had the sense to know that anything on her playlist might awaken emotions in her she was trying desperately to keep quelled.

She’d just started to drift off when the door opened and Luke burst in.

“This is my room now, ya know,” he started. He was wobbling on his feet and she saw he was drunk.

“Piss off,” she said and turned over.

“No, really, where am I supposed to…”

“I said fuck off, Luke!” She felt she could commit murder now if he pushed her further.

He wasn't prepared for such vehemence from her so he clomped down the stairs but left the door open so the light and the noise from downstairs poured in.

She was contemplating rousing herself enough to get the door when Drake popped his round face in.

“I'm glad yer back, ‘Melz. And I won't let ‘em bother you. I'll sleep in the lounge an’ Luke can ‘ave my bed.”

“Drake...Thank you,” she said. He closed the door and she flopped on her back in frustration.  

Bloody hell. There wasn't even room for her here.

But this time, despite the continued commotion from downstairs, she somehow managed to find sleep.  

---

Demelza woke the next morning unaware that she had slept for ten straight hours. There was no clock about and her mobile battery had died some time in the night. She lay on her side facing the marred wall with her back to the rest of the room, and listened carefully. The place was silent; her brothers must already have gone. This bedroom was in the rear of the house but sounds from the front road made their way in through the open window. A lorry beeped as it backed up, then another drove over the metal plate in the road that always shook thunderously under heavy loads. Someone else was moving dust bins about. Then a sudden swell of loud conversation that faded after just a few seconds--school boys walking by.

Yes, school. Well, she wasn't going today. She had never deliberately skived off classes, not since she’d moved to Nampara, but this morning she was unable to stir from the bed. It didn't really matter now, even if she wanted to go, she’d already be late as it was.

The toilet flushed, a door opened, then she heard the gruff voice of Tom Carne speaking in the hallway outside her door, just a few feet away. Her heart sank. She tried to steel herself but she had no strength for a confrontation with him. He’d surely win--he already had.

But he moved downstairs and continued grunting and swearing, talking into his mobile. Moments later she heard the front door slam and she exhaled a long sigh of relief. Somehow she’d managed to avoid him. Still she dreaded the conversation they were bound to have at some point.

Would he call her a slapper or slag this time? He’d most likely accuse her again of sleeping with Ross. Well, now he was correct and it would be useless to deny it. 

It really happened. Ross had sex with me, she thought. And now I’ve never felt so alone.

With that, her resolve crumbled. Demelza held the pillow close to her chest and braced herself to face--one by one--all the troubling thoughts she had pushed from her mind the night before.

Did I really beg him to fuck me?

She cringed thinking of the many things she’d said, even before they were together in the truck. 

Yes, it had all started earlier when she went about her chores whilst still in her fine clothes. Sure, she’d put them on for herself but could she honestly say she hadn’t wanted Ross to see her like that? And then he had. Oh, he was so angry--she didn’t care to think about him that way. It was like a betrayal. To her, but to himself as well. Was that why she’d cried? She couldn’t say, but she recognised that it had been her tears that had moved him, first in the parlour then later in the truck. What she saw as displays of weakness that she despised in herself--giving in to despair was so counter to her instincts--that was what had reached him. That was what propelled him to touch her and to kiss her. And to fuck her. 

Had she seduced him? Or did he just feel sorry for her? 

I miss him, she thought, I miss my friend, Ross. She’d turned him into something else and now he was far away from her.

In a bizarre flash Demelza then thought of Prudie. Another friend of sorts and certainly a constant in her life. Of course she’d thrash Demelza and Ross both if she knew what they’d done--and she must never learn--but if it had been some other muddle, any other situation really, she might be able to offer a few words of advice.

“Yer a good girl, and a wise ‘un, Demelza. There’s way forward, only just now it ain’t clear. Better get some sleep and see if things don’t look brighter in the daylight,” she’d say.

But sunlight wouldn’t help this time. The future was forever grim.

She’d miss Prudie. She already missed Garrick. For the past four years, whenever she felt distressed, she’d always been able to count on a cuddle and a lick from him to buoy her spirits. What could she do about him now? Clearly he wouldn't be happy here in this house, but his heart might break if she abandoned him. And she wouldn't be going back to Nampara, not even for him.

Ross didn’t care that I was leaving. He doesn’t want me around. So why did he have sex with me? 

She missed the animals too, even the smelly pigs. She assumed Ross would reassign some new field hand to take over the stock but would they really be able to care for them as she had? Or was what she had thought to be serious work merely childish play, an unnecessary waste of time and attention? Why even keep animals on a working hops farm anyway? One more thing she thought was important but was just in her imagination.

Even though she was buried under the covers, she shuddered with cold. The clothes she’d slept in were still slightly damp from the rain--and from such close contact with Ross’s own soaked shirt and skin--so finding the strength to rise, she padded over to the holdall she’d flung in the corner the previous night. Some leggings and a t-shirt would be comfortable enough. She wished she had brought all her clothes with her; when she packed she’d believed she could get the rest at a later date but now felt otherwise. She couldn’t go back there--not now, after what had happened. Perhaps in a few days she’d find the nerve to ring Prudie and ask her to bring her other stuff around.

She rummaged again in her bag, this time for socks and clean knickers. 

Oh god, I left my knickers in his car last night.

She sat on the edge of the bed and tried to stretch. There was an ache in her back and her loins from sleeping curled in a tight ball but also from the brief time she had been with Ross.

Tensing her inner muscles, gripping him with her legs, she had hunched and huddled as she sat astride him in the cramped cab of the truck. It felt good at the time but it hadn’t been comfortable. At one point he thrust up with such vigor that she’d accidentally hit her head against the ceiling. But she’d hardly noticed and just bent low to put her lips to his neck, and felt his arms wrapped tighter around her back, pulling her towards him. He was so strong--she’d known this for years--but to experience it in a different way, to be on the receiving end of this strength? That was new. Intense movements in such a confined space; today she felt the strain. 

Her nipples were sore too, still erect and raw from his mouth and his grazing teeth. Another thing she had begged him to do.

A warm shower might ease the tension but she decided against it. She couldn’t bear being wet again but mostly she didn't want to part with the last bodily reminders of having been with Ross--not yet. She thought she could smell where his mouth had been on her face and neck and her thighs still felt dewy as well.

If Demelza was filled with despair at what was lost to her now, she did not have any regrets. She had had him--had Ross--and if only for a few minutes, he had been hers and he had wanted her.

I should feel shame that I’ve ruined everything, she thought. But at least he was with me.

It had been the first time in her life she had sought out something important that she’d wanted and had, as a result, lost all. This wasn’t like her trip to Spain or looking nice for the dance, things she’d longed for just outside her reach. This was real life, not dress up or make-believe. She should have seen that the stakes were too high. And yet she’d do it again if given the choice.

The pain she felt now was in her heart, in her gut, and in her lungs, for she truly felt unable to catch her breath. Tears were for another a sort of sadness--the everyday hurt or disappointment or anger. This was profound and forever; there was no consolation.

She crawled back to bed and hid herself again in sleep.

She woke several hours later, her arms stiff and her head heavy. She was surprised by her ability to will herself into unconsciousness. She wished she could sleep forever, she just didn't want to be at the moment. She had never used drugs before, so she didn't know the oblivion she wished for could be found that way, and wisely, she chose not to go search out the alcohol that could easily be found downstairs. Drink would no doubt cause her to pass out but before it did, would only dredge up feelings, and in fact make them stronger.

This wasn't just about losing Ross but accepting a life deprived of love. But truly what did she even know of love? She’d only ever collected scraps of affection and warmth--mainly from Ross--and had pieced them together into a patchwork she’d wrapped around herself thinking it a great cloak. It had never been real.  

Without leaving her bed she stretched to reach her bag and pulled out her chemistry review book. She switched on the light next to her and settled back to read.

She didn't leave the bed or the room for the rest of the day and the night that followed other than to use the toilet. She thought to text Prudie with a quick reminder of the chores she’d left undone, then switched her mobile off entirely. She didn’t want to face any angry replies, or worse, no replies at all if she’d already been forgotten.  

In between her frequent slumber, she’d turn to her Chemistry book and focus with impressive discipline, shutting out the world around her.

Demelza’s brothers, when they returned from school, had expected her to cook some supper for them but quickly got over it when she told them to leave her alone. They were unused to her being around and had no idea how to read her.   

In an unexpected reprieve Tom Carne didn't return to the flat, so again she managed to avoid him. But strangely his absence served to frustrate her. He had said he was at Nell’s most days--so why had he bothered to demand she come home at all? He hadn’t even noticed that she was there or perhaps he did know and just couldn’t be arsed to acknowledge her.

Demelza had an unwelcome thought of her father laying with his girlfriend. Of course she’d never seen this Nell so she wasn’t sure if she were short or tall, dark or fair. But she could imagine her father, his bulgy putty and grey-coloured flesh, heaving and panting, grunting and grabbing. It was a disgusting image, not even animalistic, for at least when animals mated they had nature on their side. There was something filthy and repulsive that the tinge of human lust brought to the whole endeavour. Whatever Tom Carne engaged in, it wasn’t love making but something else.

It wasn’t like that when she had been with Ross. Not obscene nor dirty, even though it had been impulsive and furtive and in his truck. Her Ross was beautiful, special. And their connection had been different. It had somehow been pure. 

No matter what happens next, no matter how he thinks of me now.  

------

Midafternoon Saturday Demelza rose on wobbly legs and decided to venture downstairs. She hadn’t eaten since she left Nampara but had had no real appetite. Her youngest brothers had gone out somewhere but Luke was still asleep in one of the front bedrooms after a late night. Well, she’d been in bed for days--who was she to judge?

Now she felt like she’d just awoken from a delirious fever. Still foggy and unsure of her surroundings, she shuffled through the stuffy house trying to make a plan. If she stayed busy she might be able to keep her mind focused but there was so much to do and she was uncertain of where to start.

In the lounge she spied a thin blanket and an ugly zigzagged striped sheet on the sofa where Drake had been camping out. Maybe she could repay him for his kindness and do a load of laundry for him. She gathered the bedding and other odds and ends--socks, tshirts, track pants, underpants--all strewn about the floor and stuffed them in the old washing machine in the kitchen, hoping it still worked. 

There were people to take care of here, people who were broken and needed love too. Maybe some good could come out of this whole fucking debacle if she could at least be of use to her brothers. But if she were going to stay here, she’d have to make some changes straightaway--not for them but for her own sanity.

Of course there was no proper cleaning products. She had to use washing up liquid to mop the kitchen floor. It didn't really cut the grime and created far too many bubbles but when she was done it at least felt less sticky. Then she attacked the work surface and the cupboards. Chipped glasses, mugs with broken handles she binned. She rewashed all the remaining dishes and rearranged the shelves. In a fit of pique she also unplugged the toaster and binned it as well. Only one side had worked for years. She raked the mountain of crumbs that collected under it into her hands and added that to the bulging bag. Then she braved the refrigerator.

It too needed a good washing. Something orange and sticky had long ago spilled down one of the walls. There wasn’t much in there. Five packets of mayonnaise from the chippie and a few nearly empty take-away containers. Some dodgy-looking bacon uncovered on a plate. No milk or butter. No eggs, no veg.

Fucking hell, what do these people eat?

Based on the rubbish she’d found throughout the house, it seemed the answer to that question was burgers and crisps exclusively. She gagged at the thought and tried desperately to push away any thoughts of the well-stocked and orderly Nampara pantry.

There was no way around it, she’d need to go to the shops and pick up a few things. She thought to check the biscuit tin where her father used to leave grocery money years ago. Of course it was empty--like it often was then too.

Once again Demelza regretted her poorly planned packing. After all the drama of the stupid shoes, she’d hastily changed into sandals before she left Nampara and had forgotten to take any trainers. It wasn’t raining now but she didn't want to find herself slogging through puddles with exposed toes, were it to start again. She disliked the idea but poked around the hallway until she found two of Sam’s shoes that matched. Sam was older than Drake but his feet were the smallest of all the Carne brothers and so his trainers might not be too clownishly big on Demelza. She hoped he wouldn’t mind--or even notice--if she’d borrowed them. 

Outside the glare that somehow managed to seep through the overcast sky hurt her eyes, but the cool air felt good on her skin. But she didn't want to dwell on fresh air and what it felt like to be outside. Certainly she mustn't think of the soft grass and sea breezes she was missing. Instead she ran through the shopping list in her head. 

She had £16--ten of her own and six she found rumbling through her father’s pockets. She’d hated doing it--hated going in his room, hated touching his things or smelling his smells. It made a queer rage spasm through her veins. That she’d avoided him so long must have been due to some divine intervention. It was only a matter of time before they’d come to blows and this time she knew she’d either kill him or leave for good. 

Where would she go if she left? 

That would have been a question for Jinny, who was the font of all sorts of practical knowledge--or at least good gossip. Jinny could have told her about someone who knew someone who’d had to find refuge in some sort of hostel or shelter or who’d found a flat to squat in. But Demelza couldn’t bother Jinny with this now, not when Jinny’s predicament had turned so tragic so fast. A week ago she could have...well yes, only a few days ago Demelza herself had a safe roof over her head. A few days ago she had Ross, the most loyal of friends, who would have helped her and protected her. She inhaled sharply once again remembering how strong his arms were. 

Things had changed and in just one night.  

No, she had to apply an iron discipline to her thoughts. Bread, milk, cereal, yoghurt, some decent tea. She’d need some protein--maybe eggs and some sort of meat she could stir fry? What about veg? This would be tight. Maybe no meat but a tin of beans? If she walked farther or took the bus she’d have more options--there were the bigger shops on the other side of the A30 that probably had better food--and better prices. But the SPAR not far from the Methodist Church would have to do today. She found to her surprise she really didn't care. She walked on in her borrowed shoes, fingering her stolen money, trying to make herself invisible to anyone she passed in the road.

The inside of the shop was small and it helped her decision making that the selection was limited. She didn’t have to think much about what flavour yoghurt to get--there were only two--and the meat was mostly all frozen and processed, so she skipped that entirely. She got the largest box of cereal she could find, suspecting her brothers might also eat it, then regretted that just one litre of milk wouldn’t go very far. As she contemplated getting something for Sam as payment for the borrowed shoes--perhaps a chocolate--she spied the sandwiches in the case by the across from the till. 

In an instant she forgot Sam and eagerly grabbed up a tuna on baguette for herself. It was as though the appetite that had been suppressed for days had come roaring back with feroce intensity. Even the limp lettuce and pale tomato looked amazing to her, and forgetting the rest of her shopping list in her head, she anxiously shifted from one foot to the other as she waited to be rung up.

Once outside she leaned against the shop wall and took a bite. The tuna was dry, the bread rubbery. But that mattered little to her--by now she was ravenous. She bit in again but this time, in her zeal managed to bite her tongue as well. She tasted the blood before she put her finger to her mouth to confirm it.

She slid down the damp brick wall and began to cry. A woman walked by quickly, averting her eyes, pretending not to notice the young shuddering body on the pavement in distress. But Demelza didn’t care who saw her or how she appeared. The pain was real and it was too much.

Notes:

Winston Graham gives Demelza loads of other brothers, but I always just condense the Carne lot to the three. My apologies to the others but in all honesty they aren't missing much by being left out of this household. Some readers will see I borrowed a line or two from WG's Poldark: A Novel of Cornwall (There was an ache in her back and her loins...) and I do so, as always, with gratitude and respect.

Chapter 29: Truths: Part II

“When yer done clearin’ up that broken glass from the parlour floor, better come outside! We’ve bigger problems there!” Prudie fretted. 

Ross and Prudie were scurrying to finish preparations for the Airbnb guests arriving in about an hour’s time. Prudie hoped aloud--more than once--that they didn't arrive early like some guests did. 

“We’re always still scrubbin’ the loo and they’re outside ringin’ the bell, eager to break down the door,” she said. “Doesn’t 3 PM check in time actually mean anythin’ to anyone?!”

Despite Prudie’s frenzy, Ross welcomed the diversion; the quick hustle and physical activity kept his mind off what had occurred the day before. He still had no idea, no plans of what he’d say to Demelza when he saw her next. 

And until Prudie had reminded him, Ross had forgotten the shattered wine glass was even still there and was surprised that Demelza had neglected it. Of course, it was Ross’s doing--why would she or anyone be expected to clear up his mess? 

But happy to be rid of any reminders of that scene, he swept the last of the shards into the dust pan before turning his attention to his fractious housekeeper pacing at the back door.

“The yard’s nothin’ but a sea of mud!” Prudie cried. “What’s yer plan so all the cars don’t get stuck? And the Italians said they was plannin’ on eatin’ their big dinner al fresco but chairs will just sink out there!” 

“Go fetch a bale of hay for starters,” Ross suggested. “We can spread that around now and as long as the sunshine holds, things should begin to dry up. If our guests need to set up their party outside tomorrow, they can do it in front of the house. And there are those old plywood sheets stacked by the machine shed. Demelza and I can lay them down when she comes back.”

 “Captain? The girl’s not plannin’ on comin’ back,” Prudie answered, unable to hide her impatience with Ross’s seemingly willful blindness. Her lips were pursed, her foot tapped furiously. “Not after what her father told her. That’s what she said in her note anyway.”

“What? That's ridiculous...” Ross stopped in his tracks, holding the broom aloft, while he processed what Prudie just said. 

Had he known this? 

Ross dialed his mind back to Thursday evening in the parlour when Demelza had first mentioned she was going home. Had that really been just the day before? It seemed like another lifetime. Ross had been so distraught about his inability to help Jim, and then so caught off guard by Demelza’s sudden transformation--it was almost a seduction--that he hadn't really heard her when she said why she was leaving. He knew she had the holdall when they drove off but it didn't really click that she wasn't just going home for the night.

He hadn’t listened. No wonder she had been so distressed. Ross stopped that train of thought abruptly for to think of the girl’s despair was to think of her in his arms and then to think of how he’d kissed her and...

There was still Garrick and the rest of her stuff. Surely she’d come back for him. Of course now he recalled her goodbye to the dog. It was a little more pronounced, more solemn, the embrace lasted longer.

She’d been desperate and I didn't ask her why.

-----

“Signor Ross!” The laughing voice rang out across the yard. The first visitors--the guests of honour--had finally arrived. 

Ross and Prudie were grateful that they’d come two hours later than expected since it gave more time to prepare all of Nampara, in and out. Neither of them was as efficient nor as practised as Demelza around the house, so everything seemed to take longer yet yielded dismal results. Demelza would have laughed at the sloppily made beds and poorly folded towels. Those were precisely the sort of details she masterfully attended to, that guests would notice, but that Prudie was utterly blind to.

But hopefully Alessandro and Luca wouldn’t mind. They stepped out of their hired car and scanned the sea of mud around them, smiling as though they’d just arrived at the Riviera. They were happy, in love, and ready to celebrate. 

Luca was the more gregarious of the two, always laughing in a deep baritone that carried no matter the distance--across the fields, through the walls and floorboards. Ross recalled the previous summer that he’d always been impeccably dressed and this time proved no different. Although today he wore jeans, they were spotless and paired with an orange cashmere sweater and fine leather loafers that were hopelessly sinking into the soft mud.

Alessandro was taller, thinner, and a bit younger than his spouse and had a natural ease to his spirit. He spoke less than Luca, perhaps because he was more hesitant to blunder on in imperfect English, but was still present in a quiet and attentive manner.

If the timing of their visit had been any different Ross might have looked forward to seeing these two again.

“Luca, Alessandro! Welcome back to Cornwall,” Ross said. “When does the rest of your party arrive? I understand we’re to have a full house this weekend.”

Luca looked at his watch and laughed. “My family, we are always on time. But this one?” He winked at Alessandro who rolled his eyes ever so slightly.

“I expect soon. And you will know when my mama arrives for she’s louder than me. You must have a grappa with us later. To celebrate.”

“Yes, congratulations are in order,” Ross replied.

“One year of il matrimonio and nothing has changed,” Luca beamed.

“Niente?” Alessandro raised a brow.

“Well, I am better fed,” Luca conceded.

“Et non hai più lo stress!” Alessandro laughed.

Ross wasn’t quite sure of exactly what was said but recognised warm companionship in the teasing tone. He felt a dull ache in his gut but wasn’t sure why.

“That’s polite for I’m in a better mood. That’s what love does,” Luca explained. Then as if moving on to the next logical thought he asked, “Where is la carina ragazza? Demelza? She works here still, no? I promised to tell her about raising water buffalo!”

“Water buffalo? Don't give her any ideas,” Ross laughed then Prudie’s withering look from the back step reminded him that he was continuing to delude himself about the girl’s status at Nampara. “Erm...she’s gone to see her father and brothers,” he quickly added.

“Che peccato! Okay, we get settled now and wait for tutti i parenti. You come to our festa tomorrow night, yes? All of you--Prudie too.”

As though the invitation was an insult and as if it were somehow Ross’s fault, Prudie huffed loudly then disappeared back inside the house.

-----

It was just after five when Ross was finally free to attend to his own tasks. He’d had plans to do some mowing but found that even after a day without rain the fields were still too wet. Resigning himself to this feeling of frustration, as it was most likely to be a permanent state, he thought he’d at least sharpen the dull blades of the flail mower himself and for once save a trip to the tractor supply store in Redruth.

He struggled to loosen a bolt and wished he had some assistance. Not just any assistance but Demelza’s in particular. She had a stubbornness that kept things working around the place. Any bolt could be loosed, an almost dead planting could be willed back to life, even a bent nail could be pounded straight.

She never gives up on hopeless cases.

But she seemed to have given up on Nampara now and on him. And why shouldn’t she? Just what had Ross ever offered her but scant wages, hard work, and dark moods? All that and an unplanned sexual encounter in his truck.

Ross could avoid thinking about it no longer--of what had happened between them.

Now was not the time for conflict. What was done was done and Ross was not one who gave in to regrets, especially if the act was in itself enjoyable. If he had misgivings he should have thrashed it out with himself before his lips had moved from Demelza’s forehead to her lips. But just when had it started? The desire, the raging desire that moved through his pulses. One moment he was kissing away her tears, maintaining the facade of brotherly of care and responsibility that he’d offered from the very first day of their meeting, and the next his mouth was greedily on her breast. 

Must everything be dead serious? Isn’t the ‘act of love’ meant to be enjoyed?

Ross was no prude, and since his parting with Elizabeth, he’d been with other women. They were short stints, never more than one or two dates, but enough that he certainly wouldn’t describe his existence as monk-like. His father might disagree; he took love freely where he found it and seemed to find it easily. But Joshua was not there to judge. No one was but Ross himself. 

So it wasn’t the sex that was the issue, it was that the sex had been with Demelza, his employee, who he’d taken under his wing since she was a girl. And the sex had been in his truck. Had where it happened cheapened the experience? Cheapened her? He had his own standards of behaviour even if no one gave him credit for them. But if he’d stopped and taken her back to his bed at Nampara, would that truly have made what they did that much better? 

There was still the question of their prior association and her age. She was only seventeen and despite her mature outlook on life, she was not yet an adult. But she wasn’t a girl anymore either. She had new needs and was changing day by day. Her body was grown up but that wasn’t all. Her eyes looked wiser, her face looked older--even her hair did.

That afternoon, in the rush to tidy the shared bath above the barn, Ross had seen the bottle of henna she’d left in the shower. He’d thought her hair had been getting darker--a more pronounced red. It somehow suited her.  

Of course he’d he been noticing her--he’d be lying to himself if he didn’t admit that. So why did it feel as though when she stood in front of him in the parlour, and he held her wrist in his hand, that it was the first time he really looked at her as a woman? The first time he felt the desire that, with any another person, he would have given into instantly? 

Her hair. Last night in the truck her soft hair had appeared so vibrant. But that couldn’t be. It had been dark in the empty car park--absolutely dark--yet in his memory he could see her hair shining and her luminous flesh glowing in front of him. 

“Damn it!” Ross called out loud enough to rouse a sleepy Garrick, who loyally scampered over to attend to his master. Distracted by his unsettled conscience, Ross hadn’t given enough attention to the mower blade and absently had sliced a finger. The edge had been dull so the cut was ragged and began bleeding at once. He supposed he should be grateful it wasn’t severed.

It was precisely the sort of careless mistake Jim would have made. And Ross hated that Jim wasn’t there now. And neither was Demelza. He hated being alone and he hated himself for not doing more for either of them. 

And mostly he hated that he couldn’t stop thinking about Demelza.

--

Ross slipped into the Nampara kitchen to clean his cut and apply a plaster, hoping  it didn't require stitches, a bother he had no patience for today. 

Where’s Demelza and her super glue...he began, but cut the thought short.

Prudie emerged from the hallway and looked him up and down but offered no help nor sympathy. She cocked an ear to the loud conversation and laughter coming from the parlour; more of the guests had arrived.

For the next three days Prudie and Ross would be relegated to their rooms and the common area of the kitchen. If Ross really wanted he could join the fun--he knew he’d be welcome even if he didn't understand a word being spoken. And after today’s frustrations, a glass of grappa or two had its appeal. 

Prudie however was not tempted and groaned in disgust.

“Italians are so loud! They're always having a laugh. Everything’s a party for them,” she sneered.

“No, Prudie, folks from elsewhere are just as loud. France, Sweden, Cornwall,” Ross reminded her, then he laughed lightly. “I thought you liked these Italians?”

“Not the same this year,” she grumbled and walked away but not before Ross saw her dab her eye. Her discontent was not about the guests nor about having to shoulder any housework herself. Prudie was feeling the loss of her companion, Demelza.

They all were.

----

Usually when they had guests who booked the whole house Ross would crawl off early to bed in his room above the barn, but extra unexpected guests this weekend had spilled over into those rooms as well. All the bedrooms in the house were filled to capacity. Roll out beds had been set up in the parlour and they still required two more rooms in addition to that.

Jim’s room was tidied in a hurry, his left behind laundry and scant belongings chucked in a box that Ross carried down to his truck. Ross’s plan was to take this to Jim’s mum but then feared it would only add to her heartache. Would it be more sensitive to store the stuff at Nampara until Jim was released? He wished Demelza were there--she’d have a practical answer that would somehow account for their needs, Jim’s wants, and his mother’s feelings.

The obvious other room to offer the guests would be Demelza’s since it was the most inviting and because she wasn’t there. But Ross felt strongly that it would be a violation of not just her privacy, but of her to allow strangers to be in her space without her knowing. He couldn’t bear the idea of someone touching her things, lying in her bed. And there was no way he could face boxing up her possessions as he had just done with Jim’s. Her room could remain a shrine to her for the next decade if that’s the way it was to be. Besides, to pack her belongings would be to admit she wasn’t coming back and Ross wasn’t really convinced yet that this was the case.

So it was agreed that Ross’s room closest to the stairs would be given to the guests and he’d take Demelza’s until Sunday. It was barely dusk but desperate for some solitude, Ross went up as soon as Prudie was settled and he could slip away. Garrick followed, occasionally looking at him in confusion, then finally settling down on the striped rug on the floor.

It had always been a pleasant room--over the years Demelza had taken the effort to pick out more of her own things, a new duvet and bed linens, framed pictures on the wall. They all coordinated and gave the room an “aesthetic.” Ice blue and white, clean and cool. He recalled how when she first moved in she’d been happy with scraps she found here and there. And then there was her pink phase, when even her hair had been pink. 

The blue-green bra edged in black lace flashed in his mind. 

She chose that too.

This wouldn’t do. Ross fought to regain control of his thinking. Then he recalled the silk underwear still under the driver’s seat in his truck and felt panic run through him as though he’d  abandoned something fragile. He took a deep breath--it was just a pair of knickers, not a baby bird or newborn kitten. He’d retrieve them in the morning.

But when had she gotten them and for what purpose? Surely not for Jim. That dalliance had ended almost ten months before. Did she have other lovers? And when did she get so tasteful? He hadn’t noticed the quiet life--the secret life--she had built for herself. 

Was she really gone for good?

Ross shifted in the bed and saw his boots had smeared mud on her duvet. Inwardly he cursed.

Of course I ruined this, ruined everything for her. Everything I touch turns to ash.  

He hastily removed the boots then stretched out on the soft bed, promising himself he’d try to clear up any dirty traces the next day. 

If she were here now, how would it feel to lie down next to her? To turn to face her and explore her fully? In a different setting would she respond to his touches the same way she had in his truck?

She had responded. Whatever doubts or confusion he had about what they had done--about what he had given in to--he felt certain she’d found enjoyment. It wasn’t just the obvious signs of arousal on her body but her words, her gestures, her actions. How she’d pulled him towards her and gripped his arms or pressed his head to her breast. There was nothing contrived, nothing done for show or because it was the expected next move. She had followed her instincts, gone willingly where she was driven, right up until she wedged her hand between their joined bodies to touch herself. And as her body crumpled in pleasure and he felt her inner depths spasm around him, her ecstasy brought on his own urgent release. 

You’ll find most men like to watch their partners pleasure themselves. Had he really used those exact words with her only the year before? Then it had been clinical, detached, advice to a young friend. He’d never imagined she’d be his partner. Never.

It was too much to think about. Too much.

He turned his mind to Carnmore business. It was another truth he had to face that he’d been avoiding all week. He hadn’t been able to help Jim, but maybe it wasn’t too late to help Tonkin, for if Ross didn't figure something out quickly, the brewery would be lost. And lost to George Warleggan of all people. 

There’s no other way. I’ll have to take out another loan and buy out Trevaunance before he gives in to George’s offer.

Ross started running through ways he could economise at Nampara. He hated to think it but without Jim’s wages to pay there would be some meagre savings. And if Demelza was really gone maybe it was time to consider selling off the stock. What they brought in from the sale of cheese and meat wasn’t enough for their own upkeep. And it had been Demelza’s care, her stubborn will, that kept them productive, so without her who knows what they would give. Ross had only ever retained them out of nostalgia for this father. Maybe it was time to clear the past once and for all.

It might be almost enough to cover a portion of another loan payment every month but it was still a gamble that they’d have another good hop yield that summer. Again, he’d have no Demelza to help in the hopyard; even if he sold the stock he would have to find another farm hand to take her place there.

An emptiness swelled though him as he faced this upcoming summer--a grim financial outlook and a loss of companionship. Just like when he’d first returned to Cornwall from Cyprus. Why had he deluded himself into thinking he’d made any progress the past four years?

Exhausted, Ross snapped off the bedside lamp but then noticed the light from the yard that shone in through the window. Reluctantly he rose again from the bed and went to lower the blinds.

The rain hadn’t returned. It was a warm night, clear with no wind, holding the promise of summer to come. The dark had come on suddenly, an even silky black but both the moon and the lamp above the kitchen step cast ribbons of light across the yard.

And then Ross saw them.

Something in the way the two came together, their bodies dark in the shadows barely illuminated under the lamplight. They kissed and then settled into an embrace. They belonged together. To each other.

Watching this kiss, this moment between two lovers--strangers to him but not each other--reached Ross in an odd way. He saw something in it and he recognised something about himself. What he’d maybe lost without knowing he’d even had it. What he wanted.

The intimacy, the kiss, was a moment of two people being together in truth. Truth--that’s what he longed for.

Ross had certainly had moments of that sort of affection and tenderness in his life before, moments where nothing else existed around him, when he’d looked into another’s eyes and saw love reflected back. Only… it wasn’t true.

Now? He didn't know what the torrent of feelings raging through him meant, but his mind kept returning to Demelza. Whatever he felt for her came from truth. They were real together. She’d never lie to him. She’d never been anything but her most pure self with him. Even in passion. Especially in passion.

Oh god, how I’ve mistook her.  

Ross wanted desperately for the chance to prove to her that he too could be true, be honest. He knew the closest thing that he’d ever had to what Luca and Alessandro shared under that lamplight happened when he was with Demelza. At the supper table, out in the fields, and yes, in his truck. He didn't dare conceive of it as love but it was a relationship--a connection--that had always been based on truth. And it might be better if it weren’t love. Everyone Ross had ever loved had lied to him or left him.  

He had to bring her back. 

----

Ross woke early the next day and immediately went out to the hop yards. He told himself it was to get in as many hours of work while the sun shone but he knew he was avoiding talking to anyone else.

Despite his firm resolve the night before, he had not yet crafted any concrete plans of fetching Demelza from Illogan. Today might also prove to be a test. If she were to come back on her own, it would be today, on a Saturday. So rather than making a scene at the Carne home in Illogan, perhaps they’d all better served if he just waited--at least for a few hours--to see if she surfaced.

Ross came back to the house around noon, hungry and hot, and as he approached the back door, he heard a car slowly rolling over the gravel and straw covered mud. He did have a visitor--but it was not who he’d expected.

He recognised the cream and black Mini Cooper at once. There was even something prim about the way Elizabeth came to a halt after pulling into the yard. And then he looked again and saw this was a new car--same make, same colour, different model. Bigger than her sporty convertible, four doors and split rear at the boot for hauling whatever it was she now had to carry. Her life had expanded and so had her car.

She stepped out and smiled. It was mid Saturday morning but she was polished and put together as any other day. Even from a distance her hair glistened, her smooth skin broadcast its perfection. She walked towards him and he saw her full lips, made up in a dusky rosy pink.

It was the first time since attending court on Thursday that Ross had given thought to his own appearance. His shirt was soaked, no doubt his face was red and sweat-streaked as well, and his jeans were beyond grubby.

Ross hated that her appearance--her beauty--still moved him when he was in her presence. He’d found over the years that as long as he avoided her, the torment was abated. He supposed it was progress that he could at least say that she was gone from his mind, even if it might be a while until she was fully and forever gone from his heart.

“Elizabeth,” he said, a hundred mixed feelings churning in his gut, and waited for her to come closer. “An unexpected distraction. I’m afraid we’ve guests in the house this weekend so I can’t show you to the parlour but come into the kitchen?”

Once inside Elizabeth glanced around the kitchen that was in considerable disarray. Whether the stacks of dishes had been from the Italians’ lunch that day or were remnants of a late night spaghettata, was unclear. Elizabeth declined any offers of tea but drank a glass of mineral water out of what Ross assumed was politeness. Finally she cleared her throat to speak she’d come to share.

“I heard about your farm hand--the boy. Why didn't you go to George directly?” she asked Ross. “I’m sure he could have been persuaded to drop the charges.”

“George? Oh I very much doubt that…” Ross shook his head in disbelief.

“There are things you possess that are of interest to him,” she said coyly.

“Such as?”

"Influences...land perhaps?” she said casually, but surely knew more.

Yes, she knows everything doesn't she?  

Ross wondered how it was that she would be aware of what George Warleggan wanted. Verity had warned him years ago that Charles and George were close. The connection must have extended to Elizabeth as well. 

Perhaps that was just Elizabeth’s secret power--she got men to tell her those things--their desires. Or maybe she sensed them without anyone saying a word. Had Ross? He didn’t recall telling her any hopes or dreams or even any plans. He certainly never told her he wanted to resurrect a derelict farm, enter into a risky hop venture--or sleep with his teenage employee.  

Again he tried to stop his thought circuit there. Just what would he call what happened between him and Demelza? Not “sleep”--that euphemism wouldn't fly for what they’d done in his car. It certainly wasn’t the word Demelza had whispered in his ear when she told him what she wanted. 

Sitting in the untidy kitchen, in conversation with Elizabeth, Ross suddenly was struck by the memory of Demelza’s smell. She hadn’t been wearing anything special but her sweat, her breath, her soap, the rain, and maybe even traces of the salty sea air on her skin all mingled together to intoxicate him--he’d tasted it with his mouth, his nose, even his skin. It was no means a scent applied for seduction but it would forever be associated with the deepest feelings of arousal for him. He realised his face was flushing and an uncomfortable stirring in his crotch reminded him he wasn't alone. Whether Elizabeth sensed the source of his embarrassment--he was seated and quickly crossed his legs to obscure any visible traces of what his thoughts had conjured--he couldn't say, but she certainly picked up on his discomfort.

“I’m sorry to have interrupted you. I forget that, even on the weekend, farm work continues.” She seemed proud of her observation and only a hint of condescension came through.

“You’ll excuse me for my distraction.” Ross tried to be polite, even formal. Wasn’t that her usual tack?  “We are short staffed at the moment.”

“Ah, without Jim, yes,” she said and knit her brow in a look of sympathy. “But where is the girl--Demelza?” she asked.

He looked rather sharply when she’d said the name. Elizabeth glanced away at once, her startled response suggesting she knew better than to wade further into those waters. There was something protective and territorial about the girl that had flashed on Ross’s usually stoic face.

“I think I should be leaving,” she said weakly, as though all the strength was suddenly gone from her well-maintained facade. 

Ross considered it possible that she’d finally seen, finally accepted that he was not in fact still wrapped around her finger. A plaything abandoned to a forgotten shelf, only to be taken out when she had the fancy. And yet this realisation seemed to surprise her. Had she truly expected that after all these years he’d just sit around and wait for her to come to him? She was married with a child, for god’s sake. But of course she wasn't thinking of them--nor of Ross. She just let herself be blown from one flattering interaction to another--wherever her fragile ego could get a little inflation. And Ross supposed she now had George Warleggan’s adulation to keep her occupied.

He wasn't really angry with Elizabeth; she no longer had real power over him. He’d known for a long time what she was--what her weaknesses were. He was no longer tethered to her. He was, if anything, indifferent. 

But why, while he was sitting in front of Elizabeth, was he thinking about Demelza? Elizabeth would always be part of his past but Demelza was different. She was part of his day to day life and his work. And that was where he had to dwell--in the present. He had no other choice.

Yes, Demelza was different. Demelza was... his. Not his possession but his match.

Notes:

Ah yes, Ross’s conflicting thoughts about his dalliance with his Demelza are very much lifted/borrowed/revered from Winston Graham’s Poldark: A Novel of Cornwall. Much from pp 265-6 on my Kindle edition but also a few phrases from the precious Ward Lock edition that my good Poldark loving mates have posted online here and there. I’d sure love to talk to that editor to know more about what choices they made and why. Also indebted to Debbie Horsfield's scripts/staging.

Chapter 30: And I Hope That I Don't Fall In Love With You

Ross stopped to fill the truck at the petrol station in Foundry Road just past the roundabout. He wasn’t stalling--in fact he was anxious to arrive at his destination despite the fact that he hadn’t really plotted out what he would say once he got there. If Tom Carne answered the door, that might be easiest. No nuances would be required in that conversation. Ross felt confident he could match the man and almost welcomed the idea of physical confrontation. The question that remained was what to say to Demelza.

He had considered bringing Garrick with him as an extra enticement but then thought better of it. To keep the dog at Nampara might be strategically sound. Demelza might not be swayed by Ross’s pleas but perhaps she’d come back for Garrick.

He knew he had to find the right words to reach her. In any other situation Demelza would be the one giving him advice--usually unbidden.

She’d say ‘Just be honest.’ But I have no idea what that means.

After several knocks the door at #22 opened and at once the overpowering smell of weed wafted out to greet him. A young man, presumably a brother, looked Ross up and down then nodded as though he recognised him and knew why he’d be there.

“Melz is at the shops,” the brother said. He was darker than Demelza but there was something lively about his eyes that resembled hers. 

From where he stood, Ross could see the house was crowded--with people, with piles of smelly trainers, an expensive bike stood in the hallway near the stairs looking out of place in the otherwise shabby flat. One friendly face peered round then moved back deeper into the clutter. The first brother didn’t close the door straightaway but he didn't invite Ross in either.

“I’ll...erm...just wait out here then,” Ross said making the decision for them both.

Ross shifted about on the pavement, rocking his weight on his toes, looking up and down the empty road. The neighbourhood had a strange feeling to it--abandoned and devoid of life yet overcrowded at the same time. The only green he could find was a single weedy tuft sprouting up through some broken concrete in the front garden across the road. Demelza did not belong here.

As the wait closed in on fifteen minutes, Ross wondered if he should go look for her in his truck. He recalled passing some shops on his way into Illogan and thought it possible, knowing Demelza’s stamina that she’d go that far. But if he left now he might risk missing her. He was reluctant to text her, and felt adamant their next communication had to be in person.

He grew further impatient but was unwilling to give up. He paced, his agitated mind turning to the single cigarette he knew remained in the glovebox. Finally he could take it no more--he was wholly unsatisfied in all areas of his life today so it only seemed fitting to give into this one craving. 

Ross returned to his vigil in front of the Carne house with his prize and hoped a smoke would calm him, as had been the case so many times before. 

When was the last time I felt this rattled? He took a long slow drag. 

He exhaled a dramatic veil of smoke and when he opened his eyes he saw Demelza’s frame in the distance. Her feet seemed too big for her and there was no dance in her step. She looked tired, hunched.  

Without putting out his cigarette, he moved towards her, and once they’d met, he took one of her carrier bags without saying a word. They walked on towards the house.

“You shouldn’t smoke, you know,” she said flatly.

“You didn't come yesterday,” he replied.

“I told you I was goin’ home,” she continued forward and didn’t look at him.

“Or today,” he added.

“I thought you wouldn’t want me around.” 

“At Nampara?” he asked incredulously and stopped in his tracks.

“No, I mean I thought after what happened, you...wouldn't want to see me again…” she mumbled.

“Put your shopping away and then come let’s talk in my truck,” he said. A hint of gentleness crept into the seemingly firm directive.

A few minutes later she climbed into the passenger seat but still didn’t look at him.

“What do you mean by leaving? You know I need your help,” he began. “Demelza, come back to work. You can have your room--your private space--as long as you like, whenever you like. I...will keep a distance from you if that’s what you want. I don't want you to feel uncomfortable around me…” 

This is the conversation I should have had with her after the Christmas debacle, he thought. 

Tears were escaping from her eyes that she had given up wiping away. A pale, dirty face under a black beanie flashed in front of him but just for a second. That girl was long gone.

“Won’t that be too hard? For you, I mean. Won’t my bein’ there remind you of what...what we did?” she asked.

“Would that be a bad thing?”

“I figured you were angry. Afterwards, drivin’ me here, you were so quiet…” she continued.

“You were quiet too…” he replied. It wasn’t an accusation, but an observation.

“I...I see now that you didn't want to...with me.” Her voice was breaking as though she were containing a sob.

“No, Demelza. I was ... yes, I was upset,” he said blindly feeling to find the right words, the right tone when he had no idea what would come out of his mouth next. How could he? He had yet to truly sort his feelings and was acting on instinct alone. “But upset with myself, not you, and not because I didn’t want to but because I did. I wanted to be with you very much. How could you not know that?” Then he had an awful thought and asked in a panic, “Demelza--you did want to…?”

She nodded then looked up at him, her face earnest and unguarded. 

“You don't hate me now?” she asked.

“You think I hate you? Demelza, I could never…” He felt an odd sensation in his chest and realised he’d been holding his breath. He tried to exhale slowly but it came out a gasp. “You should know for me, it was...to be with you...was so good.”

“Me too,” she whispered in a voice so low he only heard it because he’d been straining to; they were the words he wanted to hear.

Ross desperately needed to hold her but couldn't risk anyone seeing them, not there. Not in public anymore, not in any sort of embrace or contact, not even those innocent touches and pats that had been casually thrown around for years meaning nothing. Or maybe they had meant everything. Were they not the signs of trust and affection building slowly? Building towards what?

He took her hand in his. It would have to do to express his feelings now, the tenderness he was desperate to show her. With his finger he delicately traced inside her palm, then rubbed between her thumb and forefinger. She responded by lacing her hand in his; their grip tightened and through it he sensed her emotions, her response to his words. It was hardly enough but would have to do for now.

“What happened here?” she asked looking at his bandaged finger.

“Just a scratch.”

“Well that’s a lie. It’s bleedin’ through the plaster…”

“Demelza, come back with me,” he said in a low gravelly voice. It was a change they both recognised. He wasn't trying to convince his employee to come to work but his lover to return.

“I can't!” 

The tears returned and Ross felt a hot splash on their joined hands. He wanted to bring them to his lips but fought against it. If he kissed her--any part of her, even her hand--he wasn't sure he could hold back. 

“My father told me I need to be at home. He’ll make trouble and I…”

“Demelza...” His voice trembled with a new terrible fear. “Did he hurt you?” He clasped her hand even tighter now, as though he’d never let her go. His need to protect her--an obligation he’d upheld for four years--suddenly shifted into a whole new dimension. 

“No, no. I never even saw him. He didn’t touch me,” she said quickly to reassure him. It wasn’t the time to explain her certainty that were Tom Carne to have laid a hand on her, it would have been his last move ever. Or hers. One day Ross would understand her determination to never submit to her father’s ugly violence again--but this was not the day nor the moment for that conversation.

Ross searched her face and once convinced she was telling the truth, relaxed his grip just a bit.

“Then just come for the rest of the weekend. Tell him...no, I’ll tell him you'll be back Monday and weeknights.“ Then he said softly, looking at her hand in his, “I need you.” He didn’t know where those words had come from but they were the truth. And he saw that she knew it too.

“Is that you or the goats talkin’?” she laughed lightly. 

On its surface a casual joke, but the words signaled something more meaningful. It was a leveling tease--in that moment she was his equal and his partner. And it meant the emotional tumult, the crisis, was over for now.

“Well, knowing you’d never say no to the goats….both,” he replied with a weak smile.

----

A pink and orange dusk had settled across the grey Illogan sky when Ross pulled away from #22 and swung the truck north. Demelza’s holdall was once again behind her seat but the mood in the cab was in stark contrast to the last time they’d driven together. Again there was a silence between them but tonight it was comfortable, an easy and drowsy quiet. 

They were approaching the Chiverton Cross roundabout when Demelza opened her mouth to speak then hesitated. Ross heard her almost imperceptible halting breath and smiled encouragingly.

“What is it?” he asked. He hoped she hadn’t forgotten something that would require them to turn around--or worse, changed her mind. 

“Well, maybe you’re too tired but I thought it might be nice to just drive for awhile?”

“Is that what you want?” he asked.

“It feels good sometimes to just be movin’...I can’t quite explain it.”

“I understand,” he said. “I’ve often felt that way too. Let’s drive along the coast for a bit before we go home.” He was happy that she was happy and that he could oblige her in such a small request. 

The windows were wound down so as they picked up speed, the evening breeze ruffled their hair. They headed slightly west and while the sea was just beyond their view, the damp air took on the smell and feel of salt.

Smiling, Demelza shifted eagerly in her seat and reached over to put on some music.

Ross knew her taste had evolved rapidly over the past year but was still caught off guard by the first few bars of her first selection.

“Well I hope that I don't fall in love with you,” she sang along with Tom Waits. She wasn’t just playing this for Ross’s benefit but clearly was familiar with the lyrics.

She was looking out the window and while he couldn’t see her face he sensed she was smiling.  When she didn’t know a line she’d hum and she waved her hand around as though it was following the music, the breeze, the truck as it now rolled north.

And Ross knew himself to be happy. Driving up this empty but familiar road with Demelza beside him. Ross couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt such a feeling of understanding, of completion, of peace.

Don’t question it you fool, he chided himself. Just hold onto it. 

He looked over as she pushed the wildly windswept hair from her face and met his gaze with smiling eyes. 

      “Well if you sit down with this old clown

      Take that frown and break it

      Before the evening's gone away

      I think that we could make it

      And I hope that I don't fall in love with you”

Notes:

You’ll most likely have noticed I’ve borrowed and paraphrased the heck out of some lines from the end of Poldark: A Novel of Cornwall (Here’s the full beautiful passage from WG: “And Ross again knew himself to be happy--in a new and less ephemeral way than before. He was filled with a queer sense of enlightenment. It seemed to him that all his life had moved to this pinpoint of time down the scattered threads of twenty years; from his old childhood running thoughtless and barefoot in the sun on Hendrawna sands, from Demelza’s birth in the squalor of a mining cottage, from the plains of Virginia and the trampled fairgrounds of Redruth, from the complex impulses which had governed Elizabeth’s choice of Francis and from the simple philosophies of Demelza’s own faith, all had been animated to a common end-and that end a moment of enlightenment and understanding and completion. Someone–a Latin poet–had defined eternity as no more than this: to hold and possess the whole fullness of life in one moment, here and now, past and present and to come. He thought: if we could only stop here. Not when we get home, not leaving Trenwith, but here, here reaching the top of the hill out of Sawle, dusk wiping out the edges of the land and Demelza walking and humming at my side.. Let me hold it.”)

And speaking of beauty, check this out. Gotta love Tom Waits…
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EtLVXBqfqBY

(Written by: THOMAS ALAN WAITS/Lyrics © Warner/Chappell Music, Inc./BMG RIGHTS MANAGEMENT US, LLC)

Chapter 31: The Lights Of Nampara

It was almost nine when the truck finally approached Nampara. Laughter and music from the party set up on the front lawn filled the warm spring night. 

“Do you want to join them?” Ross asked Demelza but was relieved when she shook her head and smiled at him. She was ready to be home.

Ross drove slowly past the twinkling lights and the dancing bodies and headed for the muddy work yard near the barns. The back of the house was completely dark, not even the blue light from Prudie’s room could be seen from her window near the kitchen. Perhaps she had joined the Italians afterall.

Ross followed Demelza up the dimly lit staircase to her room above the north barn. He was glad the blinds were already pulled, one less awkward move they’d have to make. She slid the latch to lock the door then leaned her back against it and looked at him. It was an invitation but he was slow to step towards her; he knew there was no turning back. Instead, he sat on the bed and looked as her hand hovered over the switchplate on the wall.

“Don't turn it off. I want to take my time and fully explore every inch of you,” he ordered.

“Yes, Ross?” She laughed lightly but raised her eyebrows incredulously, as if she still wasn’t fully believing the sincerity of his interest in her. But in a strange act of defiance, she did switch off the overhead bulb, then walked around him and turned on the lamp next to the bed. He had to admit the softer light created a warmer atmosphere. 

He reached up for her waist and pulled her to his lap. Then, after looking into her shining eyes, he put his hands on her face and slowly kissed her.

Finally they were alone and in a world of their own making. The other night in his truck, they had only thought of the moment but now this was something different. They were still very much in the present and not looking forward nor back, yet every second seemed to carry weight and permanence. And there was no right or wrong; Ross cared not what anyone else might say or think. He himself wasn’t thinking about his prior relationship to Demelza or how old she was, just that they were together.

He meant what he said--he wanted to take his time. Oh, he wanted her alright, but if they spent the whole night kissing and cuddling, he’d be content to simply be with her after such an agonising separation. And he was satisfied in the knowledge that she wanted to be with him too.

But Demelza had other ideas and reached for his belt after stroking the dark hairs just below his rock hard belly.

“Demelza, I don't have any cond…” he thought to say.

“I do,” she replied, and reached over to a drawer in the bedside table.

Preparations made for another lover. Well, so it had been with him the other night as well.

She grazed his earlobe with her teeth then whispered in his ear.

“Ross...please. I want you.”

And in that moment she was a woman who, like countless women throughout time, was calling to her lover, signaling her desires, her intentions, and her need.

Without hesitation he laid her on her back and answered the call.

-----

“You look sleepy.” Ross dragged a finger gently across her eyelids down to the faintest traces of freckles where her cheek met her nose. Just a dusting but when she was out in the sun they’d grow bolder. Now they were like a secret you’d see only if you knew to look. He put his lips to hers softly.

“You should know why,” she laughed without pulling her mouth away from his.

“Then go to sleep,” he whispered. “Demelza, I can’t stay here all night, as much as I want to.”

“I know...but where will you go?”

“Maybe the barn? My truck? The bench in the kitchen? Does it matter?”

“Prudie will ask, she’s the only one who will care. It’s silly--we’re short on beds and I had room in mine,” she said.

“I know,” he kissed her forehead slowly and pulled her closer to him. She settled against his chest and soon her breathing grew steady so he knew she was asleep.

He wasn’t very familiar with this Demelza. Busy, hard-working Demelza, cheerful or swearing he’d known for years. And passionate, naked Demelza he’d grown to know better over the past few hours alone--and it would be quite some time before he was done exploring her. But still and sleeping Demelza, soft and capitulated in his arms--that was new. He felt as though he’d gentled a tiger that now lay docile at his feet.

Or was it she that had tamed a wild beast? For he too was still and calm with complete surrender in a way he hadn’t been in years. 

He looked down at his young lover, her warmth spreading through his skin, and exhaled a soft laugh.

Oh Demelza, what have you done?

---

When Demelza woke she knew exactly where she was--in her own bed in her own room and even though Ross was not with her now, he had been and he would be again. This was where she belonged.

She stretched out and took pleasure at how even after last night’s exertions, her muscles and body still felt loose and relaxed. It was a marked change after days of curling up in a ball trying to hide from the world. Last night she’d extended her bare body close against Ross’s, wrapped her leg around his, put her hand to his to see how they measured up. She thought these such intimate gestures, different even from the intimacy of sex.

But now she also thought about the sex. About how it felt to have him inside her, to touch his strong body all over. The curve of his back and his bum, his hairy chest and stomach, his scratchy stubbly face that rubbed her lips raw. More than ever before she was so aware of her own body, of what felt good and what was new and what she wanted. Being with Ross was different from being with any boy she’d known. He was attentive to her desires, sweetly gentle, slow at times but then assuming a powerful and driven pace when heated up. She giggled and sighed remembering his thrusting body nestled between her legs. But of course he was different. Ross was a man and she loved him.

She marveled at his tempered strength, how he lifted her or held her, but was never brusque or overpowering. Even as they joined their feverish bodies together, there had been so much softness between them. She clung her arms around his neck, he stroked her hair with both hands over and over. But that's the way lovemaking happens--one body singly seeks out a sensation and acts on impulse, the other reacts and then acts on its own, and then, over time, they sync up and move together.  

She was supposed to have done this after the first time she’d been with Ross. She was meant to lie around reliving the pleasure in her own mind and basking in the happiness that came from satisfying such a built up and overwhelming desire. A desire she was already beginning to feel return to her.

And now this bed smelled like Ross, and like her and Ross together. In delight she flopped herself on her belly and buried her face in the pillow that hours before his dark head had rested on. Then she gave a little squeak when she realised how late it was.

----

Demelza found Ross in the Nampara kitchen pouring himself a cup of coffee.

“What do you mean by lettin’ me sleep in?” she asked with a smile.

“Since when am I your alarm clock?” he teased.

Since you keep me up all night. But that didn't need to be spoken. She raised a brow and bit her lip to contain a laugh. She had no idea how alluring she was to him in that moment with her coy smile and flirty eyes; she was merely being her own happy self, relaxed at home and in the presence of the man she loved.

“Come here,” he said softly but firmly.

“But...Prudie?” she whispered. They had not yet talked about it but they both understood if they were going to continue to be together, they'd have to keep it a secret. For now anyway. Maybe things would change at some later date but neither of them had yet to think of the future, only the present.

“We’re alone, the Italians are all still asleep and Prudie’s in the shower. Can’t you hear her singing?” he said and wolf-like, moved towards Demelza who had still been lingering in the doorway.  

She leapt to meet him and at once put her head to his chest and gripped his upper arms tightly.  He reached to rub her back then kissed her hair, again trying to catch his breath. He was not expecting such warmth, such tenderness from her and it caught him off guard.

She raised her face and kissed him and he was reminded of how passionate her soft young mouth could be. She pulled away slightly then brushed her lips against his again, this time only giving a quick kiss. It was a kiss of confidence, of familiarity, like one an old couple might exchange. She wasn’t worried about a diminishing supply, she knew there would be plenty more kisses.

“You taste like coffee,” she smiled.  

Unlike the other residents of Nampara, Demelza didn't much like coffee and it had always been something they needled her about. 

“When you’re my age you’ll need three cups just to get yer bones movin,’” Prudie would moan. 

“When you’re older you’ll appreciate the taste,” Ross would say. But now didn't seem like the right time for Ross to remind her--or himself--of her youth.

“It’s better than cigarettes,” he offered.

“No, and I still smell those too. Where did you pick up that up anyway? I’ve never actually seen you smoke before.”

“In the army. It was a hard habit to quit. It's only when I’m feeling my most desperate that I come back to that.”

“Oh Ross! Desperate?” she asked softly, then kissed him again, this time as if tending to his needy soul.

“Ancient history now,” he said. He meant it. That desperation belonged to another lifetime. Besides, the pack was now empty.

“If you say so.”

She let go of him and Ross stared in awe as this poised and breezy young woman switched on the kettle for tea, moving naturally around the kitchen getting breakfast settled, as though it were any other morning.

“What's the priority today, Ross? Are we going to finish the meadow?” she asked.

“No. I've had a change of heart. I like it wild. Maybe later if the flowers are all gone we can mow it but until then, let's leave it.” 

He was glad she had changed the topic of conversation to the farm so that he needn't be the one to do so. He was also relieved she’d easily taken to calling him ‘Ross’, instead of ‘Mister Ross’. He had feared that would be hard habit for her to break but apparently there were many things about her he had yet to fully appreciate.

Demelza filled her pink travel flask with tea and went to the back door where her wellies lay in a pile with several other mismatched and muddy pairs. 

“I'm off to the barn. I'm guessin’ no one gave the goats their supplements while I was gone and they are due for dewormin’ anyway. I'll come out to the field when I’m done to see if you need any help. I think I need to work the garden too though and I should do that before lunch. Come, Garrick!” And with that Demelza gave him her warmest smile and left Ross alone in the quiet kitchen.

Yes, there were many things about her he had yet to fully appreciate.

 

Chapter 32: Warnings

Ross stepped quietly into the hallway and carefully pulled the door shut behind him. The latch made a soft click that was barely audible above the creaks of the ancient floorboards beneath his bare feet or the midnight sounds of the barnyard drifting in through the open windows. He listened for a moment and imagined he heard her soft breathing on the other side of the door. Everything about the evening had been soft: the breeze that fluttered the curtains, the moonlight, her bed, her skin, her whispers, her kisses.

He paused, disturbed that her room only locked from the inside so he’d need to leave it unlocked for the rest of the night. She’d been asleep when he left and he was loathe to wake her to lock up after him. He just couldn’t bear to disturb her peace--a peace that was well-deserved and so long overdue. He considered staying in the stuffy room next door, the one he used when they had guests in the house, so he might keep an ear open for any intruders, but the mattress was absurdly lumpy and quite hard, and he was certain he’d never sleep if he knew Demelza and her softness were so close.

Both the door at the top of the staircase and the outer barn door had solid locks and while he could at least take some comfort in that, he still checked them twice before moving on towards the house. He lamented that he was compromising her security at all by having visited her.  

I have to keep her safe.

----

Ross had thought about paying Tom Carne, offering him some sum in exchange for leaving Demelza alone for good, but then thought better of it for a number of reasons. Initially he suspected that once the idea of payment was in his head, Tom Carne would never be satisfied. He’d just keep coming back for more. 

And could that perhaps be considered some sort of trafficking, to have exchanged money with a man for his daughter? No, of course not. There was no commercial sex or exploitation, no coercion. She was above the age of consent and was free to go anywhere she pleased, but still it did not sit well with Ross. It might not be illegal but was medieval at best.  

But most importantly, Ross knew what it would do to Demelza if she learned her father finally named a price and that in Tom Carne’s eyes, she had a finite value. Even though she’d always suspected the man doubted her worth, such an act would destroy her.

No, it was better that Ross, as the stronger of the two men, assert his will once and for all. He didn’t think it would mean coming to blows but if it did, he’d be ready. But even if that might prove satisfying, it too was unenlightened, when he thought about it. One alpha male beating another and driving him off from the pack?

As it turned out, the conversation between the two men in the lounge at #22 Wesley Road went surprisingly well. Ross came alone and was direct and firm. Tom Carne said little and seemed to accept that he had no hold over his daughter and hadn’t really for some time. This last attempt to recall her home for good hadn't really been thought out and while the flat got a good cleaning out of her brief visit, once her father realised she came with expenses and took up space, he perhaps began to regret his insistence. 

In their exchange Tom Carne also managed to refrain from speaking ill of Ross or Demelza, which was a wise move. Ross could have handled personal insult but if a word was said against Demelza, he most probably would have been provoked to violence.

Ross walked away from the meeting hoping that they’d never have to speak to Tom Carne again.

---

It was a little after midnight when Ross came back into the dark house  Though he visited Demelza’s room every night now, he’d yet to stay with her long enough to wake in her bed. He’d usually wait until she fell asleep before he’d slip out and dress again. Tonight he’d left Garrick up in the north barn with her so he expected to be able to get back to his own room in the house without any notice. But as soon as he opened the door, he saw the light in the kitchen and felt compelled to check it out.

Prudie was sitting up, clearly waiting for him, as she had an empty glass and a new bottle of whisky set on the table. She possessively gripped the can of cheap lager she’d been drinking. At first she said nothing but her eyes were fixed on him, her mouth twisted into a formidable scowl.

“Sit, Captain,” she said firmly.

Ross was tired. It had already been a long day, and while the hours he had just spent with Demelza had fed his spirit, they’d also drained his body further. Relieved of the tensions of the day, he was now ready for a deep sleep, but sensed that was to be delayed. For some unnamed reason, he obeyed the order and sat opposite Prudie at the table.

She poured him a drink without saying a word then just as he put the glass to his lips, she spoke.

“I hope you know what yer doin’, Capt'n,” she sputtered.

“Prudie,” he began with an exasperated sigh meant to suggest this was none of her business, but she immediately hissed and cut him off.

“I always saw you as a thinkin’ man. Sometimes you do think too much. And other times when you act impulsively--which happens on occasion--you do it for the right reasons. Like when you brought the girl here in the first place.”

He opened his mouth again then thought better of interrupting. As she spoke, she’d kept her hand raised, objecting in advance to anything he might offer in his defence.

“So I hope you did think about just whatever it is yer doin’ with the girl.”

He didn't look up at her but gave a weak nod.

“Because if you hurt her, I swear I'll castrate you myself. I’ve been livin’ on a farm my whole life and I seen it done!”

He didn't doubt she was serious and without realising, it looked suspiciously at his drink, as if she might have poisoned it.

He sighed and finally dared to look at her, wide-eyed and earnest like an errant schoolboy answering his teacher.

“I would never do anything to hurt her, Prudie. I’ve only ever cared for her,” he said desperately.

“You think that but then yer actions may prove otherwise. Just be tender to her, Capt'n. She do care the world for you, always has. If you ruin this for her...”  

She waved her hand around the dark kitchen but Ross knew what she meant. She was referring to the life Demelza had carved out for herself at Nampara. A life free from worry and harm, from physical deprivation, and one where she could grow not just in body but in mind, and explore what it meant to be alive. 

“Prudie, you must think I’m…” Ross said shamefully.

“No, I think yer a kind man but a lonely man. And when yer lonesome it’s easy to have yer feelin’s mistook but remember it’s also easy to break a young heart. And despite how the girl’s grown, she’s still young. Quite young.”

Apparently satisfied, she stood up and gave Ross a pat on the shoulder before she shuffled back to her room.

Ross was again frustrated with himself. Another fine mess he’d created for them all. Of course Prudie would see what was going on. She wasn't a fool and no matter how they had tried to hide their changed relationship, there was a new warmth and richness in the way Demelza spoke to Ross now, even if it was about everyday things. He could only suspect his actions towards her revealed a change as well.

And Prudie was right. What was he doing? Was he just a lonely old man taking advantage of the fresh young body on the premises? He didn't believe that to be true but was he really building a relationship with a teenage girl? If he didn't think of her age, it--an actual relationship, not a secret sexual affair--seemed possible. They were so good together, working and talking, teasing and playing, their wants in sync. But could it be real if he wasn't, in fact, considering her age? How much was her youth such a vital part of Demelza’s character, of her essence?

Or was it something else--a sexual obsession that had taken hold of him and showed no signs of abating any time soon. He couldn’t give her up even if he wanted to.

He quickly threw back the remaining whisky and immediately poured another. It was not the consolation he craved. What he wanted most at that moment was to slink back across the yard and bury his face--and all his concerns--in the tangle of Demelza’s soft red hair that was spilled across her pillow, to hold her close in arms, and smell her now-familiar scent, to think of nothing else but her. And then not think at all.

But if he returned to her room now he’d not only wake her but signal something was amiss. He didn’t want to disturb either her rest or her spirits. When he had seen her last she had been sleeping peacefully, her arms thrown back over her head, her soft lips curled in a gentle half smile. After everything that had happened this past week--these past years--he wanted more than anything to make her happy.

How could he guarantee that she would remain that content? He knew he couldn’t guarantee anything, but then again, could any lover really? 

No, but he could try. He’d have to try.

 

Chapter 33: Conversations Part I

Notes:

Read the tags. If conversations about sex/women’s reproductive cycles isn't your thing, skip this chapter.

Demelza tipped the feed bucket into the trough and was immediately met with a swarm of butting heads. Their insistent bleats, each call distinct to her, filled the cramped low-ceilinged barn and she squatted down to pet their bony little heads as they crashed against the wire fencing, demanding her attention. She loved this part of the day. For years now--four in fact--these goats had been one of the only constants in her life. Smelly, loud, but ridiculously affectionate, they never cared where she came from, how she dressed, how smart she was--or how old she was. They never made promises that they later backed out of and were always honest about their desires and intentions. They recognised her and they needed her and they let her love them.

Well, the goats weren’t the only constant, were they? There was of course Ross. 

Her Ross.  

He’d been a similar reliable factor for her, someone she could count on even if he didn’t always openly share what he was thinking.

In some ways he was closer than ever. She’d gotten to know his body--his physical presence--quite intimately over the past two weeks. This man who’d always occupied a central place in her heart and her imagination was now hers in a way, and she knew she’d captivated his attention and his desire. Since he brought her back from her father’s house in Illogan, Ross had come to her most nights, and on the few he hadn’t, they'd still found a way to steal private moments together and he’d given her enough heated affection to fuel her dreams before she went up to her room alone. 

She had no doubt that he wanted her.

She’d come to know his sighs and gasps, what aroused him, and what soothed him--and when he needed soothing. She knew how to fit her body to his and how to read his kisses. He’d always told her she was a quick learner and she had endless curiosity if Ross was the subject.

She’d laid claim to his skin but what was underneath was still a mystery, and now that she was his lover, the thoughts and feelings that he’d always kept well guarded, were suddenly of even greater interest to her. She had different expectations and this desire to better comprehend Ross’s inner life only grew with their new relationship. As a result, she began to feel an odd sort of a distance from him--one she hoped she could bridge.

Demelza stood up and recognised a familiar ache in her heavy-feeling legs then recalled what would be coming in a few days. She’d have to tell Ross, to warn him, but it somehow seemed too awkward to bring up.

You realise what a massive idiot you are? she chided herself. Over the past ten days she’d told Ross lots of things about her body, and in rather explicit terms, could she really not tell him she’d be getting her period?

It had been easy with Jim. He was so clueless anyway, she simply told him to leave her alone for a few days but never explained why. He’d asked no questions and being a little intimidated by her, just waited quietly in the wings until she gave him the green light.

“There you are,” Ross’s sudden voice behind her caused her to drop the bucket with a start. 

“Fucking hell, you scared me,” she laughed. “Creepin’ in like a tomcat...”

“I was beginning to think you’d run off to join a trawler at Mount’s Bay. They pay well, I hear.” He picked up the bucket for her and hung it on the peg, then tenderly took her hand, weaving his fingers through hers. 

She beamed with confidence knowing that he liked to touch her.

“Oh no, I’m right here, Ross,” she said and stepped closer so he could kiss her. She knew that’s what he wanted to do--his tongue kept peeking out between his lips and while he spoke to her, his eyes had been fixed on her mouth. She felt her stomach drop once his other hand softly grazed her cheek.

“Ross,” she whispered right before he bent to meet her lips. His longing was evident as he pressed himself closer to her. His mouth--playful, hungry, greedy--dragged along hers, suckling first her top lip, then her bottom, before diving deep into an open passionate kiss.

“Mmm,” he said, and though she didn’t open her eyes she could tell he was smiling. “I’ve been thinking about that for hours.”

“You were thinkin’...about me?” she asked incredulously, then buried her face in his shoulder so he couldn’t look in her eyes. She wasn’t sure she could handle that just now--it would be too intense. She kissed his neck, but gently so as not to leave any marks. A few nights before, in her enthusiasm, she’d left her brand on his chest but those purple spots were now hidden by his shirt and also by his ample chest hair.

“Of course, I do. What else would I be thinking about when I’m out in the fields? Hops?” he asked with a cocked brow and a mock serious tone.

“Oh,” she said, speechless.

“And how was your day today?” he kissed her temple and began walking them towards the house, his hand still in hers.

“It was fine…” she said absently. She’d had to fight hard to concentrate at school when all she wanted to do was daydream about Ross, and when her mates asked her what was distracting her, she laughed and told them she was just anxious about upcoming exams. “But I have a lot of homework and revisin’ to do tonight,” she added ruefully.

“Well I should be more considerate and give you more space anyway. The term will be over soon enough but until then you should pull back on your responsibilities here at Nampara, and not just on weeknights,” Ross said. “No hopyard, no housework, minimal goats only.”

“Prudie won’t like that,” she laughed. 

“She’ll get used to it,” he replied. “And besides, we don’t have any guests booked for the next two weeks.”

“And you, Ross? What about my responsibilities to you?” she asked coyly.

He stopped and looked at her for a moment, his lips pulled thin as he sought to carefully craft his words.

“Demelza, you owe me nothing--I hope you know that. And I never want you to feel obligated to…”

“Oh Ross, I don’t, really. I love every minute I spend with you…”

“But if you ever feel otherwise you must tell me, promise me,” he said, still quite solemn.

“I will. I promise,” she said and resumed walking with him then stopped after only a few steps. He’d given her an opening and she thought to seize it. “Ross...” she began. “I, erm…”

“What is it?” His tone sounded impatient but she sensed that might not be an accurate reading of his feelings, so she plodded on.

“Well, I just thought you should know, this Sunday…”

“Don’t tell me you’ll be wanting to go to church,” he teased. 

She was relieved that his mood had lightened again so she forgave him for interrupting her. Instead she playfully hit him and pulled away, only to have him pull her back into an embrace.

“Ross, let me talk,” she giggled. “This Sunday, I’ll be gettin’ my period,” she whispered.

“Okay,” he said, and kissed her shoulder as they walked on. “I’ve never asked you, is it bad for you?”

“Used to be. When I was younger but it’s better since I’ve been on the pill,” she said, relieved that she’d been able to say it and it hadn’t been a big deal afterall. “I just get achin’ legs--that’s from lactic acid build up.” She suddenly seemed serious about the science of it all. “And a little cramp plus sometimes I get awful knackered.”

“Well then that’s merely another reason to let Prudie take care of things around here,” he said. 

---

The following Sunday, Demelza was up in her room, trying to make heads or tails of an English Literature essay she needed to complete. She was thinking of giving up and maybe seeing if Ross wanted to go for a walk with her, when she heard a familiar knock on her door. 

“Demelza?” Ross called softly from the hallway.

“Oh come in, it’s unlocked!” She leapt to her feet, tossing Twelfth Night aside without a second thought.

“Can you get the door for me?” he asked.

“Erm, ok,” she replied, then allowed her mouth to fall open in surprise when she saw his hands were full, holding a well-laden serving tray.

“Milady,” he bowed his head. “Well, can I come in?” he laughed while she stood frozen in the doorway.

“Oh yes, of course. Ross! What is this?”

“Ginger tea, ginger biscuits, some paracetamol, and a hot water bottle,” he explained.

“Ross!” she laughed. “You didn’t need to bother with all this...but thank you. It’s just…”

“Just?”

“So fucking sweet!” 

“I’ll tell Prudie you said so.”

“Prudie?”

“I know little of these things,” he said. “All the ginger was her idea--she said you preferred it ‘this time of the month’. By the way, I’ve lived with Prudie for decades and I don’t think she can name anything I prefer.”

“Oh Ross,” she cried. “Come sit with me!” She settled herself on the bed and he carefully balanced the tray on the table, then stretched out along side of her.

“How are you feeling?” he said, wrapping his arms around her waist and burying his face in her stomach.

“I’m fine really,” she assured him. “Just a bit tired but I think that has more to do with my homework than my hormones.”

“Then take a nap, rest a while,” he said.

“Only if you lay with me?” she said, and moved herself down so her face was level with his. “Thank you, Ross,” she said softly and stroked his stubbly face, tracing his scar with her long finger. “I'm sorry about my period,” she whispered.

“Don't be. It's natural and it's part of you. Don't apologise for that, ever. Besides it's usually a welcome thing to get your period when you’re sleeping with someone. It means you're not...”

“Yes, you're right. I mean, I wasn't worried. Were you?”

“No. We’re careful. You know, Demelza, I’m not sure I’ve ever seen you nap, before,” he remarked and kissed her eyelids. “You always appear to have boundless energy.”

“I’ve never had such an attractive bedmate to cuddle with before,” she said. “He’s very inspirin’, you know.”

“Is he?”

“Yes but I’m startin’ to feel far less sleepy,” she said and reached under his shirt. She loved to wiggle her hand down below his waistband following the trail of fuzz that led the way.

“Mmm...you sure you don’t need to rest?” he asked but unbuckled his belt and shifted to grant her more access to her quarry.

“Nope,” she said, kissing his belly.

“Demelza, have you ever had period sex?” he asked her suddenly.

“No...” She looked up and laughed. “It’s not really somethin’ they taught us about at school, you know. And I always assumed a bloke would find it, well, disgustin’.”

“Not this bloke,” he said. 

“Oh?”

“Like I said, it’s you and it's natural. You’ve lived on a farm for years, when did you become so squeamish?”

“I'm not,” she insisted.

“Then you should try it sometime.”

“With any bloke?”

“With this bloke,” he said and stroked her arm with the backs of his fingers. “When you feel up to it, of course.”

She reached up and pulled her t shirt over her head, then turned so he could unhook her bra.

“Oh Ross,” she said, feeling his eager mouth to the cool skin of her exposed back, “I think that I may just be feelin’ very much up for it.”

Notes:

Yes, I did borrow a few bits from Winston Graham and Debbie Horsfield again, didn’t I? (‘Creepin’ in like a tomcat’ and ‘I know little of these things’) I remain grateful to them and hope I do justice to their beautiful characters..

Chapter 34: All That Matters

Demelza felt an ache in her back and in her legs, and even though it had been an overcast day, her exposed arms still had gotten quite pink. She knew if she didn't put some aloe on soon, they’d itch and bother her later. But despite her physical discomforts, she felt utterly satisfied with her work that day. Sitting proudly upright, she drove the tractor through the lower field back towards the machine sheds and barns surrounding the Nampara yard.

After so many years of citing ‘safety precautions’, Ross had only recently relented and allowed Demelza to drive the tractor at all. It hadn’t taken much persuading--she reminded Ross that he’d let Jim drive it when he was around her age and that the boy had been rather reckless and hopeless with it. Ross had also seen her drive his truck--a few times on the property but also once in Redruth the year before--so he knew she had competent skills. But it was another argument she’d used that finally swayed him.

“Demelza, I’d just prefer it if you left the tractor work to John or Martin,” he’d replied vaguely when she first pressed him.

“Ross, I don’t understand your resistance. Is it that I’m a woman? Because I do all sorts of other labour around here that might not seem ‘ladylike’ and you must admit I’m better at it than most of the blokes you’ve hired on.” She was right on that score. When it came to preparing the hills by hand each spring and working the manure into the soil, she was the master in the hopyard and everyone knew it. And Ross certainly didn’t harbour outdated conceptions of gender roles; he’d had Demelza doing hard farm labour since she first came to Nampara. “Or is it that...maybe you think it’s too dangerous for me because you see me as still...too young?”

How could Ross answer that question? She’d skillfully pinned him in a corner. If she was old enough to share his bed, then of course he couldn’t treat her like a kid elsewhere. And her maturity had never been in doubt for him, not for years really. His desire to protect her from any and all danger, including farm machinery, came from somewhere else and was fueled by unspoken emotions. But that hardly mattered. He couldn’t appear to have two different standards, one for day and one for night. 

“Well, if you do drive the tractor at least be sure to wear ear protection,” he grumbled.

“Like you do?” she laughed at his hypocrisy. But from that point on, the tractor was part of her realm.

Today as the tractor rolled over the deep ruts of the unkempt yard, she bounced a bit with it and laughed, but slowed down and managed to keep steady control. The hot vinyl seat, ripped in places and repaired with fraying duct tape, stuck uncomfortably to the back of her thighs but her spirits remained buoyed.

Ross had left her in charge for the day while he attended to some important business with his lawyer in Truro. He hated cutting into her free time on the weekend since she still had one more week before her summer holidays began and had been up late every night revising for exams. But she was flattered that he’d asked this of her and was proud of his unquestioning trust in her abilities.

It had been one more development in a simply amazing month.

---

Demelza squinted to get a better look at the car approaching from the main road and was relieved when she recognised it as the VW Verity Poldark drove. She hastily parked the tractor and leapt off to meet her guest.

“Verity! Oh, how nice to see you,” Demelza said, as Verity wrapped her arms around the girl and gave her a warm hug. 

“You too, my dear. I love the shirt, by the way,” she laughed, admiring the grey Nampara Girl Summer Ale tshirt Demelza was wearing. “I hope I’m not interrupting your work…”

“Oh no, I was just comin’ in from the fields. But Ross, he isn't here,” Demelza replied regretfully. “And I'm not sure when he’ll return. He’s got business in Truro so I don't expect him back until late. But maybe come in for some...tea?”

Verity stared for a moment at this girl who seemed utterly transformed since the last time she’d seen her. Confident--well, she’d always been--but this was something subtly different. And the way she said “I don’t expect him back” instead of “we don’t” as if, well as if she were claiming possession. Verity smiled and when Demelza smiled back she saw how truly lovely the girl had grown, even with her work clothes and tousled hair.

“Oh...I’m sorry I missed him but yes, I’d like that. Thank you, Demelza,” Verity said and followed her inside.

Once in the kitchen, Demelza’s comfortable poise was even more noticeable. The space was clearly her domain and she moved about with a pride of place as if she were mistress of Nampara and not merely an employee.

“Or would you rather a glass of wine?” Demelza asked just as she was about to switch on the kettle.

“Oh no, only it’s a bit early for that isn’t it? And besides I’m driving,” Verity replied then swallowed hard. She’d come to share some news and could stall no longer. “I’m sorry to have missed Ross. I should have rung him but I wanted to talk to him in person. But now I’m hoping that...what I need to tell him...well, you might be able to break it to him yourself?”

“Me? What is it you need to tell Ross?”

“I’m leaving Cornwall. Tonight in fact. Forever,” Verity added solemnly, then laughed a little nervous laugh.

“Leavin’? Oh Verity! Why?”

“Oh I assure you it is for the best of reasons. I’m joining Andrea in Manchester. That’s where she’s based and I think the change--the fresh start--will be good for me. Good for us.”

“Oh that is a good reason. And is this...a secret?” Demelza asked.

“Yes and no. It is for now but won’t be as of tomorrow when I text my father and Elizabeth to inform them. I tried to talk to my father time and again but he’s stubborn and hateful and...he doesn’t understand that Andrea isn’t just a ‘passing phase’ or something I’ll outgrow…”

“He didn’t say that?” Demelza gasped.

“He did. So I haven’t told him I’m leaving but will when I get settled. I meant to tell Ross earlier but I was afraid he’d talk me out it.”

“Why would he? He speaks so highly of Andrea--and of you!”

“Oh Ross is so strong-willed, he wouldn’t understand what it means to be intimidated by someone else. If it were him, he’d stay and fight it out. Ross can be stubborn.”

“Yes I know.” Demelza sighed.

“He’d say that I mustn’t let my father win, that I mustn’t give up my life here because of him...”

“But?’

“But it’s too difficult to always feel my father’s oppressive shadow even if I exclude him from my life day to day. He’s even my landlord! There’s really just no escaping him here. And mostly, well, it’s not fair to Andrea. She deserves to have our love celebrated, and despite my best intentions, I bring home this shame, this internalized loathing...that’s no way to nurture a relationship, to build a life.”

“No, no it isn’t,” Demelza nodded. “And you’re goin’ today? What about the cafe?”

“I found a buyer--and no, it’s not George Warleggan. I can start over in Manchester. It won’t be easy but it’s the only way, really.”

“Oh Verity, I’m so happy for you and also so...sad that you’re leavin’. I know Ross will be gutted...you’re his only family and he thinks the world of you.”

“And I of him,” Verity replied and gave Demelza's hand an affectionate squeeze. “It is my one regret but I hope in time he comes to understand. Was it wrong for me to burden you with this?” Verity asked, suddenly aware of the deeply personal content she’d laid at this girl’s feet without acknowledging that she knew about Demelza’s budding relationship with Ross.

Ross hadn’t told Verity the details outright--in fact he said nothing overtly revealing at all. But the last time the cousins had spoken, two weeks earlier, Verity had noticed the change. Ross was lighter, warmer, and undeniably happier. She almost asked him what was the cause--or rather who was--but paused perhaps because she already knew the answer. She’d sensed it intuitively. Ross had described the recent developments with Demelza’s father and how the girl’s living status at Nampara had finally been resolved for good. And as he spoke Verity saw it--he wasn’t talking about an employee for whom he felt responsibility and he wasn’t speaking about just a friend. He was talking about a different sort of close companion. At the time, Verity didn’t push it and asked no  questions, she just told him that he looked well and she hoped that moving forward things would be easier for Demelza.

“Me too,” Ross had said softly. He couldn’t control a smile then looked away quickly. When he fumbled to change the subject, Verity felt even more certain that Ross’s emotional landscape was changing fast and somehow Demelza was an integral part of this.

So today, to sit across from Demelza, who was beaming and glowing in her own home--a home she had helped make and which she shared with Ross on what seemed like somewhat level footing--further confirmed Verity’s suspicions. 

“Oh no! I’ll try my best to relay all you just told me,” Demelza assured her. “And he’ll come to see why it had to be sudden and secret. At least I think he’ll get it,” she laughed.

“I’m sure if anyone is able to convince him, Demelza, it’s you,” Verity smiled then took a chance. “We’re always more easily persuaded by those who love us, aren’t we?”

“Oh, I erm…”

“I’m sorry,” Verity said quickly. “I had no business assuming that you…”

“Love Ross?” Demelza nearly whispered. She looked as though her face was about to burst into a grin or maybe it was tears. Whatever the feeling, she’d clearly been holding it in for some time. “Of course I do.” Now she bit her lip and her flushed face nearly matched her hair. “I never said that out loud before,” she laughed, trying to sound casual. “And he’s never...and I’m not expectin’ he would…but I know he likes me...and not just in bed,” she added.

“Oh, of course.” Now it was Verity’s turn to blush.

“Ross is kind to me,” Demelza went on. “He let's me care about him--and you know that’s rare with him! And what I’m feelin’ and what I think, matters to him. He trusts my opinion on things--some small but some bigger too.” 

“It’s life’s greatest treasure--to love and be loved in return,” Verity said. “And to be listened to.”

“You won’t tell anyone about me and Ross, will you?” Demelza asked, suddenly panicked, even though Verity had just trusted her with a secret of her own.

“Of course not. I know it’s complicated because of your ‘situation’...and I’d never want trouble for you two if things were going well…”

“Oh they are!”

“Besides, who would I tell? Demelza, I think you should know. I love Ross, more than any other Poldark, he is very precious to me. So to learn that he had formed a…’connection’ with you, I was…”

“Disturbed?”

“No, never. I was, at first, relieved. Relieved that he’d get some comfort in his life, some diversion from his labours and worries--but I see it more than that, you bring him more than that. You bring him hope. Before Ross met you he was broken, lost. But no longer, Demelza. He’s alive and moving forward. And I’ve seen that you don’t just fawn over him or coddle him, you challenge him to be a better person. I do feel less guilty about leaving him knowing he’s in your expert care!”

“I don’t know about expert, but I’m tryin’,” Demelza laughed. “And don’t feel guilty, Verity. You have to do what you know is right, for you and Andrea both. That’s all that matters. More tea or do you really have to go?”

“I do, my dear. I’m sorry to run but I’m catching a 6:30 flight out of Newquay.”

“Oh, is Andrea the pilot?” Demelza cocked her brow.

“No not tonight. She’ll be waiting for me in Manchester at her...at our flat.”

“Then wait just one moment…” Demelza flew from her chair and darted out of the room. Verity could hear a hallway cupboard being flung open and its contents crashing down on the floor, followed by Demelza’s bright cursing and even brighter laugh. She then ran up the stairs in what sounded like two steps at a time before finally returning with her prize, triumphant and somewhat out of breath.

“Tonkin brought a box load of these over last week, although I've yet to persuade Ross to wear one. For you and Andrea,” she said proudly, holding up two Nampara Girl Summer Ale tshirts, one in light green and one in light blue. On each a pretty young woman beamed proudly as her tresses melded into the setting Cornish sun behind her--the same illustration that was on the bottles and cans. “So you won’t forget us, or Nampara!” she added.

“Oh my dear, I will never forget you nor Ross, and will be in touch soon, I promise,” Verity said tearfully and pulled her new young friend into a warm hug.

-----

“Demelza?” Ross called into the empty Nampara hallway, then realised he should have walked the few feet to the kitchen instead of bellowing like a demanding bull. The house was quiet and dark, as though no one inhabited it. That was unusual; he’d grown used to the bustle and noise that accompanied Demelza when she was about, and most evenings she was about. Of course it was likely she was up in her room after a long day of work or she might have even gone off with mates for the evening. That wouldn't be unheard of, although it wasn’t something she’d done recently.

He hung his smart blue sports jacket on the peg by the hall then as he continued on towards the kitchen, wished he’d stopped to remove his dress shoes as well. His feet preferred the broken in boots he wore most days and today they felt sore and stifled in the stiff polished leather.

It was then that he caught sight of Demelza, alone in the kitchen. She was wearing earbuds and softly humming to herself as she put away freshly washed dishes. She hadn’t yet switched on any lights and the setting sun, only faintly visible through the window panes, didn’t offer much resistance to the dim that was settling into the room.

Ross watched her as she moved with purpose; she was consumed by her task, absorbed in thought. When she stretched to reach the high shelf he admired her strong body, her trim waist, her long elegant arms. Just weeks ago, elegant would not have been a word he’d use to describe her but having grown more familiar with her form, he’d come to see that under her work clothes and sometimes disheveled appearance, she had a beauty and grace all her own.

A sudden swell in his heart alarmed him--it was markedly different to the sensations of desire he usually experienced when he looked upon her. Finally he caught his breath and shook his head as if to wake himself from this sudden bout of contemplation. He came quietly up behind her, and settling his hands on her hips, leaned in to kiss her neck.

“Oh!” she gasped and then laughed as she pulled out her earbuds. “Ross, you’re finally home.” She spun around to face him and when she smiled, he felt the room grow brighter. He kissed her then looked around curiously.

“Where’s Prudie?” he asked.

“Look,” she nodded to the blue light of the telly that seeped out from the crack under Prudie’s bedroom door. “And listen,” she added with a whisper. 

Just then a distinct raspy snore could be heard and he bit his lip trying to contain a chuckle.

“So I gather she worked hard today?” he asked.

“Oh she but did!” Demelza answered earnestly. “Look!” She pulled away to open a cupboard and revealed neat rows of spice jars, boxes, and tins. Apparently the housekeeper had tidied the pantry stores while Demelza had been out in the fields.

“And you?” he stepped closer and stroked her sunburned arm.

“Oh I had a brilliant day--I got so much done out in the fields, Ross! But first, tell me your news.” She took his hand in hers and gave it an encouraging squeeze.

“Well, Demelza, since you ask, you are now looking at a brewer. Or half a brewer since I only own half of Carnmore Brewery.”

“Oh Ross! I’m so happy for you. The papers are signed and it all went smoothly?”

“Yes, if you can consider it smooth that I signed away money I didn't really have in order to…”

“Save a friend?” she offered. “Tonkin is lucky to have such a one. I say congratulations!”

“On my coming ruin?”

“The brewery might prove profitable. Just wait and see, Ross.”

“You are proving to be quite the optimist. When did this happen?” he teased.

“I just have things to be happy about...and hopeful for,” she said softly then kissed him again. “Oh Ross!” she then exclaimed. “I almost forgot, Verity came while you were gone. But she couldn’t wait. Ross, she’s leavin’ Cornwall!”

“Leaving?”

“Yes, in fact she’s already gone. She’s flown off to Manchester to live with Andrea.”

“Tonight? So she’s finally done it,” he said and sat down in disbelief. “But why so sudden? Why didn’t she tell me herself?”

“She was sorry she didn’t catch you at home, Ross, really sorry, in fact. But she was thinkin’ you’d try to talk her out of it.” Demelza leaned against the table and put her hand on his back.

“I’m sure I wouldn’t have…” he began to protest then looked up at her. She bit her lip and raised her brow, gently questioning his certainty. 

“And she told you this?” he asked. “Tell me, am I really that difficult to talk to?”

“No Ross, you’re not,” she said and took the chair next to him. “There’s been loads of times I’ve confided in you…” 

“Yes, you have,” he smiled weakly. “But?”

“But? Oh I wasn’t gonna say ‘but’...only, I suppose sometimes…” she stammered.

“Demelza?”

“Well, Ross, I suppose lately I do find myself feelin’...sorta hesitant in case I say somethin’ stupid. You see, now that you like me, I have more at stake, more to lose. I don’t want to displease you.”

“Demelza, do you really think I find you displeasing?” he laughed incredulously. 

“Well, not really but…I don’t know.”

“Then I’ll have to try harder to make sure you do know,” he fingered her hand tenderly. “I’ve always appreciated that you share your mind so freely--don’t stop or censor yourself around me, for any reason. Promise?”

“Yes, Ross. But it works both ways. You have to share stuff with me, if you trust me--and I think you do,” she replied then she recalled something else Verity had said. “Ross, Verity knows about us...bein' together...but I didn’t tell her. Did you say somethin’?”

“No, but I suppose I could have given it away when we last spoke. I told her about your father and I was just so relieved that you’d returned here, maybe I said something...I’m sorry to have been so careless.”

“No worries. She wished us well and seemed to think we’d be good together,” she laughed.

“Then we have one friend,” he sighed. “Does it bother you, Demelza, to have to keep this a secret? Are you sorry to have become involved with me?” he asked. 

“No, Ross, I’m not sorry to be with you even if it’s to be a secret for now. I don’t want trouble for you or for me. Then we’d never be together.”

He pulled her towards him and held her warm body close, grasping for the right words in the moment. Hadn’t she just implored him to trust her? To share his thoughts with her? But there were no words for what he shared with her now, and there was no need to speak, no need between them at least. They both understood. 

And maybe he'd put too much emphasis on keeping their relationship quiet. What did it matter what others might say, what they had--falsely--been saying for years? The whispering shrews of the neighbourhood had only anticipated the truth. Not that that mattered. 

All that mattered was Demelza and himself. And in that moment, they were together.

Notes:

I’m again indebted to WG & DH for their dialogue and scene setting that I used in this chapter. You’ll no doubt recognize bits throughout (Verity’s conversation with Demelza about love, Ross assuring Demelza she is not ‘displeasing”. Then there’s this line: “And the whispering shrews of three villages had only anticipated the truth. Not that that mattered. What mattered was Demelza and himself” direct from Ross Poldark: A Novel of Cornwall.) I am forever grateful for these moments I have borrowed and woven into this universe.

Chapter 35: Hearts and Minds

Ross had predicted there’d be fallout from Verity’s elopement but he hadn’t expected it to be so fast and so fierce. Early Sunday morning Verity sent Ross a warning text but he foolishly thought he’d have a day or two’s grace before he had to answer to the other Poldarks. 

He didn’t even have an hour.

‘Deed done. Told Father,’ Verity had messaged.

‘Big move. Perhaps he’ll come around. Congrats and love to you and A,’ Ross tried to sound encouraging in his reply.

‘Thank you. I'll phone you tonight? Hugs to you and D.’

‘Talk to you later. Stay strong.’

But he’d barely sent this last reply when Ross first heard from Trenwith. He should have known it would be Elizabeth who reached out first. She rang three times in succession before she deigned to leave a voice message. 

Ross had no desire to hash this out with Elizabeth of all people, not quite yet. For one thing, he wasn’t sure just who he’d be speaking to. Charles’s emissary? Verity's stepmother? Or her sometimes friend and confidante? His own ex lover? None of these women seemed particularly appealing to him first thing in the morning.

Ignoring the calls, he switched off his mobile and headed down to the kitchen, where to his relief, he found both the company and the coffee he sought. 

He wrapped his arms around Demelza as she stood alone by the sink, and pulled her into a swaying embrace, nibbling her ear.

“Well good mornin’ to you, Ross,” she laughed.

“The kiss is from me but the hug is from Verity,” he teased. “She sends her love.”

“To me?” she asked, incredulously, and handed him a steaming mug of black coffee.

“To us both. She’s just now let my uncle know about her move…”

“So she’ll need our support more than ever! Oh Ross, I wish there was somethin’ more we could do.”

“Well, let’s wait and see. Most likely there will be. Come sit,” he urged her.

Demelza piled some toast on a plate and joined Ross at the table, but she seemed unable to hide her anxiety and stared silently into her teacup.

“Verity’s a grown woman,” Ross assured her.

“I know that and I know she is strong but, well, I don't know your uncle, do I? What kinda man is he? Would he make trouble for her if he were angry enough?”

“If Verity’s truly resolved in this endeavour…"

“Oh yes, I do believe she is,” she added eagerly.

“Then nothing. He can do nothing.”

“It's the idea, Ross, it just seems so frightenin’--that Verity might think she’s in the clear, that she’s in the warm arms of someone she loves, buildin' a home safe from grief and insult, only to find when she’s least suspectin’ that her father’s stubborn rage could tear it all apart…”

“She is safe and no blustering from her father can touch her.”

Ross saw Demelza wasn’t just worried about Verity. He wondered if he should face this head on and mention Tom Carne by name. Neither of them had for weeks and Ross was hesitant to do so now. He hated to let the man’s baneful shadow into their bright little world. Maybe there was another way Ross could offer her reassurance and support.

“Speaking of resolve, Demelza, what can we, your humble servants, do for you today so you are uninterrupted in your schoolwork?”

“Oh Ross, that’s kind of you but I know you’ve a lot to get done while the weather is fine. Let me help you…” she pleaded.

“You’ll do no such thing. Go up to your room where it's quiet or use the library if you need a change of scenery, but I don't want to hear that housework or any other Nampara business got in the way of your revision. I’m already indebted to you for managing the fields yesterday. Besides John will come help after he’s been to church.”

John Cobbledick was a local fellow Ross had hired on from time to time, who’d become a more regular fixture in the hopyard since Jim’s departure. He had an unfortunate name but was strong, built like a rugby player, and had a mouth so foul it even made Demelza blush. But he never, never missed attending services at the Methodist Church in Ponsmere Road every Sunday. Ross supposed Mrs. Cobbledick had some influence there.

“Yes, Ross,” Demelza rolled her eyes but smiled appreciatively. “Though you’d better keep your mobile on. If I get bored or need a diversion, I may need to call you back for your service,” she winked.

He reluctantly switched his ringer back on and gave Demelza a quick but emphatic kiss. As he headed off to the fields, he sincerely hoped she would be the only one to contact him that day. 

----

The knock on the front door was rapid, heavy--loud enough to be heard through the closed library door--but didn’t last long. The hand that did the knocking seemed used to being acknowledged and couldn't be arsed to expend any extra energy whatsoever.

“Prudie?” Demelza called but was met with silence. She peered out the open library window to see if she could spot the Mondeo in the yard but saw only John’s car parked next to Ross’s truck. Perhaps Prudie had gone out to the shops, though it seemed unlikely that she’d do so without first consulting Demelza for a grocery list. So where might she be then? With a light sigh, Demelza closed her books and padded off to see to the visitor.

She’d never met nor even seen Charles Poldark and had expected someone more ancient looking; she marveled at his full head of dark hair. It was his face that gave away his age--a bit red and puffy, but not like her father’s complexion which was permanently flushed from years from drink. Charles Poldark looked like he was permanently perturbed.

“Yes, well, Ross here?” he said, pushing past her into the hallway without waiting for a proper invitation.

Demelza wasn’t surprised that he hadn’t addressed her as a person, but still took insult on behalf of all the servants throughout history who’d been invisible to the Charles Poldarks of the world. Never deemed worthy to be greeted properly or even asked their names. Not people, merely fixtures in a place. She managed to laugh at this.

Well, I do belong here at Nampara, but this old gent has no idea….

“He’s in the hopyard, sir,” she said brightly, perhaps exaggerating her politeness just a little bit. Charles seemed to take notice of her and after a quick but derisive glance at her bare feet, settled on her face. Whether he liked what he saw, she couldn’t say, but at least he stopped scowling for a moment.

“On a Sunday? Oh well, erm, can he be…”

“Disturbed? Yes, I believe so. Whom may I say is callin’, sir?” Now she was just having fun playing dutiful maid.

“I’m his uncle. Charles Poldark. Where’s Prudence? She’s still here, isn’t she?” he asked suspiciously as though Demelza had the woman tied up in the cellar.

“Yes, she’s still housekeeper, only she’s not here at the moment.”

And where the hell are you, Prudie? she thought to herself. I could use your help or at least we could share a laugh over this sour bloke.

“Please have a seat and I’ll ring Mr. Poldark straightaway.” She had to fight the urge to curtsy for dramatic effect and scampered out of the room to try to reach Ross.

After she texted Ross to come back to the house at once, she considered offering Uncle Charles some refreshment, but in a pang of loyalty to Verity decided against it. She instead went back to the library to stay out of the way of any family business. Demelza suspected--rightly so--that whatever conversation was to happen between nephew and uncle would be fraught, and poor Ross didn't need the extra worry of how to hide, or explain, his relationship with Demelza.

But she had forgotten that while the stone walls of Nampara were thick, sound still travelled through cracks in the floorboards and open windows, and deeper voices, especially those distinctive Poldark baritones, could even be heard through closed doors.

“You knew!” Uncle Charles bellowed as soon as Ross had walked in, without so much as a perfunctory greeting.

“What I knew and when is immaterial,” Ross said coolly. “Perhaps you should ask yourself why your daughter felt so compelled to keep this a secret from you for so long.”

Demelza was surprised that Ross had gone in for such confrontation straightaway.

“It was no secret how I felt about that...woman!”

“Her name is Andrea and I suggest you learn to say it since she’s going to be your daughter-in-law. And while you are quick to remind us how you feel, do you really not care at all about what Verity feels? Because that is the issue here, Uncle.”

“Nonsense!”

“After years of being alone and miserable, of being rejected and isolated, she is finally happy, and has decided to build a life with someone who loves her,” Ross said. “No matter your objections, Uncle, I have to say I admire Verity’s choice.”

“No doubt you helped her,” Charles grumbled.

“No, I didn’t. Once again you sell her mind and her abilities short. And if you must know, by the time I found out, she’d already landed in Manchester.”

At this Charles muttered something Demelza couldn’t make out but she doubted he’d yet been mollified, nor would he ever be.

“I imagine she’ll be eager to reconcile with you soon, Uncle," Ross offered.

“Never! I no longer have a daughter! Only a son and a wife. And I have no use for a disloyal nephew either!” Charles shouted again and only ended his tirade when he began coughing uncontrollably.

“Disloyal?” Ross laughed. “That’s humorous. But if you’ll excuse me, Uncle, I have a hopyard I’d like to keep profitable. I assume you know the way out.”

And with that Demelza heard the distinct clomp of Ross’s work boots as he exited the parlour, followed by a slam of the back door. After another moment Charles’s engine started up, his tires crunching on gravel, so she knew she was alone again.

She exhaled, aware only then that she’d been holding her breath. She was proud of Ross and the stance he’d taken just now. Compassionate and caring for Verity, but also bravely speaking the truth to such a pompous and privileged man. Whatever esteem she had for Ross tripled that morning. But what to make of his relative? How had Ross ended up so different than Uncle Charles? For the first time Demelza wondered what Ross’s own parents had been like--and what they would have thought of him now. And, of course, what would they think of her?

----

Demelza had been back at her books for the better part of the day, taking only a small break for lunch. Earlier she had fantasised about calling Ross home and sneaking up to her room with him to release some tension, but after Charles’s visit, she thought it best that poor Ross remain undisturbed. She knew Ross liked to bury himself in work when he was troubled and she had no doubt Charles’s words would have left him unsettled.

But when the door to the library was pushed open without a knock, she couldn't help but gasp eagerly, hoping Ross had come to her. She saw it was Prudie bringing her a cup of tea, and tried valiantly to hide her disappointment.

“You been workin’ hard, girl. Thought you might be wantin’ this,” Prudie said proudly.

“Oh thanks, Prudie. I appreciate it. I think I’ll keep goin’ for at least another hour then maybe take a walk with Garrick to clear my head. I’ve been revisin’ Chemistry all day but have to shift gears and write about Shakespeare so maybe some fresh air will do me good.”

“Well I’m back from the shops, if you be needin’ anythin’. And I’ll make supper for us all, no worries there.” Prudie beamed with satisfaction, both at Demelza’s dedication and at her own ability to support the girl.

“Oh, thank you,” Demelza smiled genuinely. In a flash it hit her that Prudie had possibly just shown her more kindness in thirty seconds than Tom Carne had shown her in her entire life. It had been Charles Poldark's doing, setting her thoughts on cruel fathers. She recognised this and so taking a deep breath, she tried not to think of either man--not here, not now--and instead went back to her drills.

“What is the electron configuration of the element lithium? Ha! I know this one! Two, one-- lithium has atomic number 3 which means there are 3 electrons in the shells. Placing two in the first shell leaves you with just 1 in the outer shell!” she had just said aloud triumphantly when she heard another knock at the front door. This time, knowing Prudie was around, she ignored it.

But several minutes later she heard it again. It wasn’t as aggressive a knock as Charles Poldark’s had been, so curious, but also looking for an excuse to stretch her legs, Demelza rose to her feet.

“Prudie?” she called then laughed. Why was the woman never around when she was needed? Demelza heard the loo flushing and thought it a valid enough excuse so she skipped over to answer the door herself.

Demelza was still laughing when she found herself face to face with Elizabeth Poldark. 

----

Elizabeth Poldark had just removed her Valentino sunglasses and was dazzled by the bright afternoon sun reflecting off the hazy old windows, when the oak door creaked open. At once she felt as though she had come to the wrong house.

Elizabeth assumed the young woman must be Ross’s young farm hand but she hadn’t expected her to be so grown, so lovely, the curves of her maturing body so noticeable. Demelza’s blue eyes shone bright with a sort of casual cheerfulness that came from within. She had been laughing and now she stood tall and barefoot, filling the Nampara threshold as if she owned the place. If she had said gloomy Ross Poldark no longer lived there, Elizabeth would have easily believed her. 

“Oh erm, hello…you’re Demelza, aren’t you?” Elizabeth’s voice sounded clipped, uncomfortable at once. She most definitely did not feel welcome, despite the girl’s smiling face. Elizabeth looked at her own shoes, embarrassed by some unspoken faux-pas. 

“Yes, I am.” Demelza said, trying to read the woman.

Elizabeth was wearing an elegant sleeveless blouse of white crepe, with stylish tucks along the neckline to suggest it was tailored, expensive. Her toned arms and flawless complexion had just the right hint of bronze--a warm but tasteful summer look set off by impeccable coral lipstick.

Demelza knew who she was and was also aware of her prior connection to Ross. Her own laughter ended and she quickly grew flat, guarded in response to Elizabeth’s discomfort, as she rightly sensed it was her presence at the door that had caused it. “You’ll be wantin’ Ross? Won’t you come in?” she said nonetheless.

“Is he...Ross...here? He hadn’t answered my calls or my texts this morning so I wasn’t sure, but thought I might take a chance…” Elizabeth continued hesitantly but followed Demelza into the hallway.

“Yes, well Ross is workin’ today. We have to keep goin’ whilst the weather is fine and we’re expectin’ rain midweek. June is one of the busiest months of hop growin’,” Demelza explained.

“Yes, I believe he mentioned that,” Elizabeth responded. She was desperately trying to claim some territory--of course she still knew Ross well, she’d known his relentless drive for years, she knew his business now--but it was no use. She was feeling out of her depths. “Perhaps I should come back later when he’s not so occupied…” she stammered. 

Or will Ross be occupied in a different way when he’s come back home to this woman, Elizabeth panicked.

“Wait here and I’ll text him,” Demelza replied breezily. She may have felt suddenly small on the inside but she wouldn’t show it. There was no way she was going to allow Elizabeth Poldark to see she’d been intimidated. Not now.

“Well if Ross is working, won't he resent the interruption…?” Elizabeth objected, her tone almost condescending, gently scolding the girl for her thoughtlessness. Bad manners for a servant. 

“He’ll answer my texts,” Demelza smiled, then called over her shoulder. “Prudie? Ross’s aunt is here.”

Demelza knew she was being provocative but like she’d done in her act with Charles Poldark earlier that day, she just couldn’t help herself. These people had no understanding, no regard for Ross’s life, or her place in it, and all she could do was play with them. Mock them. Laugh at them. She hated that Elizabeth feigned some sort of polite concern for Ross and his precious time now. If she really cared about him she shouldn't have tossed him aside. But thank god, she had.

“What?! His aunt?” Prudie came shuffling in quickly, perhaps expecting to see Agatha Poldark waiting in the parlour.

“Mrs. Elizabeth Poldark. Can you please attend to her while she waits for Ross?”

“Where you off then?” Prudie asked, confused that Demelza was on her way out the front door.

“I told you I needed a walk. After that I’ll be up in my room until dinner so I shan’t be disturbed,” Demelza said and quickly slipped into her rain boots. “Good afternoon, Mrs. Poldark,” Demelza nodded then turned, careful not to slam the door too enthusiastically.

Prudie was utterly bewildered that she’d been left alone with the guest. She dragged her feet wondering if she should offer the lady a drink but Elizabeth seemed so uneasy, it might be best to simply leave her to herself.

“Yes, erm, uh...I’ll be in the kitchen if you be needin’...” Prudie backed out slowly.

Once alone, Elizabeth quickly scanned the parlour. The pink flip flops in the basket by the door, the school books and the horse magazines next to the sofa, the hair clip on the table. Perched on the otherwise empty mantle, was a framed photograph of Demelza, Ross, and Jim Carter in matching Nampara Hops t-shirts. 

She'd have to have been a fool not to see it. Demelza lived here, in this house--this was her home, her space. And the way she had spoken to Prudie also made it clear that something had shifted. Demelza wasn’t the help, she was speaking to the help.

And Ross? Elizabeth put her hand to her stomach, where she felt it--even if she hadn't seen the two together, she knew. 

Ross belonged to the girl as well.

-----

“Demelza?” Ross tapped softly at her door. “Can I come in?”

“Oh yes, of course. It’s unlocked,” she said, turning from the small table that served as a desk in her room. She couldn’t remember another time she'd been so glad to see Ross--except maybe when he came to fetch her from the father's house weeks earlier. She’d felt unsettled all afternoon and just wanted to be near him.

His face was golden brown from the sun and she could see sweat glisten on his brow and in his tousled curls. His sleeves had been pushed up, revealing his powerful arms. Arms that were also capable of offering the tenderest of embraces. She caught her breath and smiled at him.  

He’d come to her. Straight from the fields, without stopping to clean up or change or attend to other business. He’d come right to her.

“Productive day?” he asked and kissed her gently on the head.  

“Oh yes, very. And you?” She stood up and took his hand in hers, leading him over to the bed so they could sit next to one another.

“John may work hard but he is not nearly as much fun as you nor even Jim. But yes, we hit our targets today so we’ll be in a good place even if it rains all week.”

“That's nice. I was worried--with all the interruptions," she began.

“Yes, that didn’t help. My uncle is something…”

“It was the first time I‘d ever met him,” she said.

“And what did you think?”

“Oh Ross, I’m going to say somethin’ I have no business sayin’.”

“But you are going to say it anyway?” he laughed.

She accepted the invitation. “I don’t think I care much for your family. I mean, besides Verity, that is.”

“Well, I don’t either. All they wanted to do was point fingers, rather than admit they drove Verity away. My uncle had the nerve to question my loyalty. Loyalty? After what he did to me? Of all the…”

“I have to confess, Ross, I heard most of that conversation from the library. You two were sorta out shoutin’ each other.”

“So we were. But you were gone when I came in to meet Elizabeth?”

“Yes I was.” She’d taken Garrick and walked along the sea for quite some time. While she was more than curious to hear what Ross might say to the woman--or even more so how he said it--she couldn't bring herself to be there. It was a sort of pride or maybe grace. Or cowardice. She was hoping the crashing of the waves might drown out the voices in her head or soothe her agitation, but even when she ran at the incoming tide or called loudly to meet the gulls’ screeching, she couldn’t shake the ugly feelings tingling inside her. They’d taken hold with spiky tendrils and hours later still showed no signs of easing.

“So did you like her?” Ross laughed.

“Elizabeth? I’m not sure, Ross. Do you?” This was the conversation she was itching to have with him all afternoon--and dreading at the same time. Did Ross still harbour feelings for Elizabeth? Was Demelza then just a night time plaything of passion to keep him busy while his heart lived down the road at Trenwith? The very thought was crushing, heartbreaking, but Demelza also knew she would accept it, if that’s all he could give her. 

“What’s not to like? She’s beautiful and polite,” he said a little too casually for her comfort. 

Whereas I am crude and untidy and wild. She closed her eyes and tried to keep breathing. “Yes, she seems very polite--and very pretty,” she managed to say.

“But she’s insincere,” Ross said and took Demelza’s hand in his. “The politeness isn't real kindness. It’s as though she is incapable of dealing with conflict--it’s a weakness.”

“Oh?” Demelza asked.

“Well she could have stood up to my uncle on Verity’s behalf, but instead tried to play the middle, no matter what she felt was right. And even today, her main concern, coming by was to tell me--no, to warn me--that my uncle has a heart condition. That we need to be careful about what news he gets next.”

“Charles is really not to be upset, Ross,” Elizabeth had chided him. “His blood pressure has been dangerously high and his doctor has cautioned him about stress. I must insist if you hear anything from Verity, or if there are any other...new developments...in the family that might shock or displease him, you must tell me first.” 

Ross had ignored that last statement as it could mean anything really, and whether or not his uncle was “displeased” was no longer his concern. Still Elizabeth had been so brittle and on edge, perhaps scared of losing the good thing she had with Charles. Or just now facing what she’d lost long ago.

“So if anythin’ should happen to your uncle it’s…” Demelza began cautiously.

“My fault. For not having broken the news to him properly, apparently. And Verity's of course for having disobeyed him in the first place.”

“I’m sorry Ross. You know that’s not true, right?” she said earnestly.

“Yes, I know. But thank you for saying it.”

“And, Ross,” she continued.

“Yes?”

“I’m really proud of you for what you said to your uncle about Verity’s heart. That sounded pretty fucking loyal to me. Not just a cousin but a true friend.”

“No doubt, anything I learned about loyalty and friendship, I learned from you, Demelza,” he said and weaving his fingers through her hair, pulled her face close and kissed her. 

He smelled of fresh air and she inhaled, wrapping her arms tighter around him. With each touch of his hand on her skin, her faith was returning. The shadow of doubt passed and once again she had confidence that she possessed his full attention and his affection.

“Ross, I was thinkin’...once the term is over, it might be nice to go up to Manchester and visit Verity and Andrea in their new home. Could we do that? If you could get away of course.”

“I think that’s a brilliant idea. I’d like that very much.” He rested his lips on her forehead.

“Good. Then we have somethin’ to look forward to,” she smiled.

“Demelza, is that all you are looking forward to?”

“Well I'm lookin’ forward to these exams bein’ over, that’s for sure!”

“Yes, that will be nice. I have to say I’m looking forward to a long summer spent with you,” he said, his dark eyes sparkling. He laid back on the bed, stretching his legs, but careful not to get his muddy boots on the duvet.

“You just miss me in the hopyard,” she teased.

“You know that is not the only place where I miss you.” He licked his lips and, pulling her down close, kissed her again. “Listen, Prudie’s made dinner but maybe afterwards if you have time, we could go for a walk down to the sea?” he said softly in her ear.

“Oh,” she laughed. “I went earlier, to clear my mind, but I’m glad to go back now that the tide is lower.”

“So I see I have to work harder to keep you entertained,” he teased back. “What did I expect, leaving you alone and neglected all day?”

“What if we…”

“Yes?” he encouraged.

“What if we stayed in and watched some telly together? I know it's not excitin’ but after thinkin’ all day, I could use a break.”

“I’d like that, Demelza,” he said, then laughed again.

“What?”

“Women! No two are alike. Why is it that some take pleasure in the simplest things, while others are never satisfied?” he shook his head.

“Am I so easy? Really? Or are you sayin’ I’m simple? Perhaps you’d prefer to spend your evenin’ with someone fussier?” She playfully cocked her brow.

“I’m quite aware of my good fortune, I assure you,” he kissed her again. “Telly it is, whatever you choose. I’m still your servant, and my job is to make you happy.”

She smiled and rested her head against his warm, damp chest, knowing in her heart and her mind that he meant it. He cared about her happiness, and his own happiness was now bound up in hers.

“Alright, Poldark,” she said and sighed.”I’ll be holdin’ you to that promise.”

Notes:

Bits here and there borrowed from Winston Graham’s Poldark: A Novel of Cornwall and Debbie Horsfield’s scripts from series one. (“I’m your servant…” and “Women, no two are alike….” which I paraphrased. The full quote is “Women. None are created equal. Some are never satisfied, some could never be brought so low, and others…thumb their nose at adversity and roll up their sleeves. …” and “I'm quite aware of my good fortune, I assure you”). I believe that the term “plaything of passion” used to describe Demelza is from the legendary Ward Lock edition of Poldark, if I'm wrong I welcome correction. And of course, the general idea of Demelza answering the door to various agitated Poldarks is very reminiscent of our glorious s1.2 and s1.3. Thanks for letting me play with these words and characters and settings!

Also needed a bit of help reviewing my Chemistry so I went here and quoted directly: https://www.educationquizzes.com/gcse/chemistry/atoms-electronic-structure/

Chapter 36: What Lies Beyond Our Grasp

“Kiss me, Ross.” It was that special soft throaty voice Demelza used just for him--at least he assumed it was just for him, for he'd listened to it develop over the nights they’d spent together. It wasn’t contrived or trying to be sexy, but real, and coming from a place of deep intimacy.

They were in her bed, on a warm June night, and although it had been a long and busy day for them both, somehow they found themselves quite awake and playfully inspired in these welcome hours together.

“Hmm,” he obliged. “Where shall I? Here?” He took a soft mouthful of her thigh and kissed, then nibbled, then kissed again. Oh, he loved her thighs. So smooth and fleshy but also strong and gently curved. He’d rub his palms and fingers over the tendons and sinews, the insides and the outs--in just a few weeks he’d come to know their contours well. She shifted eagerly to meet his touch.

“No, use your teeth,” she gasped. This time it was almost a whimper. He slithered up her bare body until he reached her breasts. Gently he traced them with his fingers then offered pecks until she threaded her fingers through his hair and pressed his open mouth to her nipple.

“Don’t hold back,” she whispered. 

As he was bid, Ross scraped with his lower teeth then suckled harder until she writhed in pleasure, giggling and moaning at the same time. She brought his head up level with hers then kissed him with her strong determined lips.

Her kiss, which once served as a balm to his troubled spirits, had since grown to be an addictive pleasure he compulsively sought. But like all addictions, with each night that passed, he found he required more and more. More kisses, more of her body, and he grew itchy if too much time elapsed between draughts of her enslaving elixir. It was a dangerous business.

She broke free with a groan and a laugh, then plopping herself back on her pillow, turned to face him. Merely inches from her now, he thought he might count the freckles scattered across her cheekbones. Her bright eyes were smiling at him.

“Why are you so happy?” he asked. A smile was forming on his face too and he almost looked away, feigning shyness.

“Why do you think?” she said coyly with slightly lowered lids. “Because of you.  Because of us. I like bein’ with you, Ross…”

“Why is that?” he asked and this time he took a piece of her hair between his finger and his thumb. It had been darkening for some time, and was a much more established shade of red than the strawberry blonde of her youth. Maybe it had started to change naturally, though the bottled evidence she’d left in the shower suggested otherwise. But if she’d been helping it along he didn't ask. It didn’t matter. It suited her and he found he had a particular fondness for every hair on her head.

Suddenly her mouth twitched in hesitation and she started to move her head away from him, but he hadn’t let go of her hair so she thought better of moving too far. He reached over with his hand to gently guide her face back up at him.

“Demelza?” he asked. It was a serious invitation but still had a lightness of tone. He was asking--not commanding.

“Don’t make me say it, Ross.”

“What?” he said softly. A simple question--a single word--but he’d never used quite that much tenderness with her before. It was shockingly new for both of them. He felt his knees begin to tremble and was glad he was lying down.

“Why I like bein’ with you...There are hundreds of reasons and some are harder to put into words than others, but just don't make it say it,” she said firmly.

He was surprised at her resolve but accepted this boundary. Why shouldn’t he have to follow her rules from time to time? She, without question, adhered to his. They were rarely spoken aloud but they both understood. They weren’t to be together in public, they mustn’t talk about what had been going on with anyone else. It really was to be a secret.

Well, not entirely, for Verity was aware of their changed relationship, but she was away in Manchester now and not a part of their daily lives. And while Prudie knew, after she’d given Ross a proper dressing down, she never spoke of it again. 

At first Ross hadn’t told Demelza about his conversation with Prudie but on her own she had observed something amiss with the housekeeper. 

“I don’t know what's gotten into Prudie,” she’d fretted to Ross after a few days. “She seems really upset ‘bout somethin’ and she keeps givin’ me the squinty eye.” 

Ross was compelled to come clean after that but left out some of Prudie’s more colourful warnings. Demelza was shocked that Prudie had caught on, then she grew embarrassed that they hadn’t been better at hiding it. But Demelza couldn’t disguise her affection for Ross, not in their own home anyway, and in the end she concluded Prudie knowing the truth might just be for the best.

“I mean, it's sort of a relief to be honest with someone so close to us and someone who...well, who matters,” Demelza explained. 

Maybe Demelza was right, and who knew? Prudie might yet prove to be an ally to them both.

But Ross did wonder about Prudie’s silence on the matter. 

If one ignored the age gap and the terms of their prior relationship, Ross and Demelza were a match that could, to some extent, make sense. They were good to each other and they had a bond that was genuine. So couldn’t this next step be almost logical? Perhaps this was Prudie’s thinking and she’d really come to accept them together. Or had she just resigned herself to watch the imminent destruction of a good thing, as Ross’s impulsive lust met Demelza’s fragile young heart, and wrecked their home in the process?

Then there was the bigger question for Ross to ponder. What exactly was this ‘next step’ they’d taken? It certainly wasn’t just sex, nor was it just friendship.

Ross and Demelza had grown close--so close--but there was still a sort of a breach between them at times that confused them both. The regard Ross had for Demelza was unlike anything she’d ever known before. He’d yet to name the feeling, but the care and devotion was unmistakable, and no one had ever shown her more. And no one had ever loved Ross more than Demelza did--not even Elizabeth had managed that. 

But these loves were still unspoken, separate strands, spiraling around each other like the double helix Demelza spent so much time studying at school. Only theirs had no connectors to join them. They had not yet been sewn together into a single love. A mutual love. One that gave and received and was acknowledged--honoured even--for what it was. Sure they were responsive to one another and they had moments they connected quite powerfully. But both were mostly still drawing from separate stores, not sharing and not regenerating. 

They had not yet each fallen in love with their love. And until they both stopped thinking of it as furtive or somehow wrong, they’d never give it the proper airing it needed to flourish.

And now, as Demelza begged him not to ask her more, Ross found himself baffled--and scared--at how she could so be familiar to him and yet so mysterious. He’d had hundreds of conversations with her over the years. She’d teased him, and cursed him even, she cried with him and shared her innermost feelings--well perhaps they hadn't been innermost but they’d been intimate. They knew each other but recently...there had been flashes, often just after they'd been together in bed, when he’d felt she was far away. There was still a distance because there was something they were both too afraid to face. 

In his fear, Ross reached out to Demelza in the only way he knew how--by focusing on his hunger for her. He knew he pleased her, and he more and more set out to satisfy every desire she had--as no one had ever done before. It was one way he felt confident in his relationship with her.

“No, Demelza, you don’t have to say anything. But remember, whatever you want, I’m your servant,” he said in a soft, deep rasp. 

And in attending to her needs, he of course stoked his own desires. For he had never wanted or needed a body more than he did hers. It wasn't just her strong youthful form, it was the animator behind it. If her flesh was his opium, then she was the doctor who decided on his dosage and doled it out to him according to her own whims. He was a slave to her passionate touch.

He kissed her and felt her body unfold under him, opening to him, eager to receive his love. 

Alone now in the quiet bedroom above the barn, Ross made his move, pulling her closer still. Assured that during the day they’d continue their side by side partnership of ease and understanding, he was also aware that later that night, after their bodies had been closest, after they'd come to know every inch of each other’s skin, he would again face the new Demelza, the stranger she would become. 

But what Ross had not yet come to realise was the hand he played in her transformation. Because it had been his love--unnamed, unspoken, but unmistakable--that had changed her. Neither of them had any experience with the way love can transform a person and make them part of something else. A new thing. A separate thing. It was that difference that neither one recognised in the other.

 

Notes:

The idea of Ross trying to make sense of the two different Demelzas once they've become lovers (or in the case of the original text, married lovers) is a central and beautiful development in Winston Graham's Poldark: A Novel of Cornwall, that I rip off shamelessly and far less artfully here. Also Demelza declaring she is happy "because of us" is borrowed from Debbie Horsfield's script from S4. Finally, “strangers who know every inch of each other’s skin” is a recognizable line from The Angry Tide that I love so much so and probably have used in almost every Poldark fic I’ve ever written.

Chapter 37: Questions

Ross opened his eyes to find Demelza’s hair everywhere. It was on the pillow, strewn across his face, stuck to his lips. Glimmering tendrils--seemingly alive and sensing--wanted to wrap around his neck. He gently freed himself and smoothed the soft strands behind her ears, trying not to wake her.

It had been a long time since Ross had awoken in another’s bed, and even longer since he'd awoken in another’s arms. Well, technically Demelza was in his. She was on her side, one hand tucked under her cheek as she lay against his chest, the other low under Ross’s back. He’d slept with both arms around her waist, as if she’d float away if he didn’t hold on to her. 

Through the open window, a breeze danced with the sheer curtains and gently rattled the blinds that had only been half-pulled. Though still early, he could tell it was going to be a warm day and after months of endless chill, he welcomed it. That morning the neighbourhood birds seemed particularly loud, as though they were in the room with them. He recalled that had been her one complaint when she first came to live there. Now he hoped their insistent song wouldn’t wake her.

“Morning, my love,” he whispered. He wanted to press his lips to her temple but was hesitant to shift his body too much, so his kiss floated in the air, missing its mark like the words he’d uttered that she hadn’t heard. But he felt it and at such tenderness, a familiar feeling--at once heavy and buoyant--filled him.

It had been an important week for them. 

----

Since that fateful day in May when he’d fetched her back from her father’s house, Ross had visited Demelza’s room most evenings--once she was done with her school work, once the rest of Nampara was settled, once the countryside was shrouded in darkness. Even if the day’s grueling labour had left them too exhausted for any real amorous exertion, Ross still came and they’d spend time together in her bed, sometimes just cuddling, until Demelza fell asleep then Ross would creep back to the house alone. They’d maintained their easy companionship and reached a sort of organic arrangement about how and when they’d make love. Ross looked forward to these hours of the day most but never assumed the invitation was automatic--he attentively watched her cues and if she’d wanted her space he would have graciously honoured it. 

At least that’s what he believed.

But that week, after a few nights passed without their usual meetups, Ross began to grow more than a little anxious.

On Monday night, Ross and Demelza had had to put all other pursuits aside to repair the hydraulic manure transfer pump. It was frustrating work but crucial as Ross had no money available to replace such an expensive piece of farm equipment. By eleven o'clock they had finally managed to unclog the intake guillotine without needing to replace the remote grease lines, but they were filthy and hot and drained by such an unexpected nuisance--and neither of them was in any mood for sex. They’d laughed about it and sat out in the yard for a few minutes, admiring the faintest sliver of the waxing moon, before parting with a lingering kiss and warm embrace. They both had to be up at dawn the next day, and most likely there’d be some other urgent farm mess awaiting them soon enough.

Tuesday night, Demelza had sequestered herself in the library both before and after dinner, then had fallen asleep at Ross’s old desk whilst revising late into the night. Ross gently got her to her feet and walked her across the yard to her room, but didn’t stay. He kissed her lightly on the eyes and forehead, then left her to get some much needed sleep. It wouldn’t do to distract her; she had an early bus to catch in the morning.

Wednesday Ross had been in Truro all day on Carnmore business and had stayed to eat supper with Tonkin and his wife. It was quite late when he returned to Nampara and when he saw the light already off in Demelza’s room, he slunk into the house disappointed to have missed her again.

These were all understandable obstacles but by Thursday evening Ross was looking forward to a return to normalcy. When he came in from the hopyard he heard Demelza’s laugh ring out from the kitchen, where she was presumably talking to Prudie. He raced up the steps for a quick shower, eager to join them downstairs for some much needed, bright conversation.

But Demelza and Prudie both seemed to grow quiet as soon as he walked in, or at least the rapid fire chatter and easy laughs came to an end.

“Supper will be ready in just a minute, Ross,” Demelza said. He tried to read her tone but found no hints to let on to her humour.

“No worries, take your time. I know you had a long day. Can I help?” He wanted to at least grab Demelza’s hand in his, stroke her soft skin with his thumb and forefinger as he liked to do, but didn't dare with Prudie bustling about as well.

“Get yerself a drink then--there’s a few cans of that Carnmore if its ale you want.” Prudie almost sneered at the mention. She had unwavering brand loyalty and never strayed beyond her Carling lager. It hadn’t occurred to her that perhaps her loyalty should lie with Ross, since her own pay cheque was now dependent upon Carnmore’s success.

“Demelza?” Ross asked. “Do you want anything…”

“No thank you, Ross. I’m fine,” she responded and gave one last stir to the fragrant creation on the cooker. 

He saw she’d already set a glass of water on the table at her place and yet she held a half-drunk glass in her left hand. Something was distracting her tonight.

When they all sat down and tucked into the halibut and barley risotto--which Ross suspected was more Demelza’s doing than Prudie’s--he became aware once again of how conversation had grown stifled. The scraping of cutlery on plates, the shuffling of chairs on the old oak floorboards, the dog’s snoring on the rug by the door filled the otherwise silent kitchen. Ross cleared his throat with the intention to talk but suddenly found himself speechless. He’d already complimented the food, more than once in fact. What else could he say that would be of interest to the others or be light enough to cut through this heavy mood?

Just then Garrick snuffled loudly in his sleep and provided Ross the opportunity he sought.

“Well someone seems to have worked hard today,” he teased.

“Garrick tried to dig under a gorse bush and got himself stuck,” Demelza explained pushing her fork around absently. “Not his fur or his flesh, mind, just his collar.”

“Sounds harrowing. So how’d our rogue get finally free?” Ross asked. He usually did not find Garrick’s adventures all that fascinating but knew they mattered greatly to both his dinner companions.

“Heard him yelpin’ a mile away,” Prudie said. “The girl went out searchin’ for him as soon as she got home.”

“A mile? Really?” Ross raised an eyebrow.

“Prudie exaggerates but it was far.”

“West towards the cliffs?” he asked, knowing that was one of the dog’s favourite jaunts.

“No, he’d gone south, almost as far as the turn off to Trenwith Road.” Demelza managed a light smile and Ross caught his breath at how welcome it felt.

But his relief was interrupted by the ringing of his mobile from the other room where he’d left it when he came in. He shook his head to signal he heard it but was ignoring it, so they might continue their quiet meal. But after several minutes, the old telephone in the kitchen rang. 

“Wha’s this then?” Prudie slammed down her fork, more inconvenienced than curious as to who was so desperate to reach Ross they’d been compelled to call the landline. She shot Ross a look as though he’d just committed some act of moral turpitude, then reluctantly shuffled over to answer the call.

“Nampara House, Poldark residence,” she said, her voice saccharine. 

Ross tried not to snicker at the forced formality Prudie reserved solely for the telephone.

“Oh, it’s you,” she said right away, letting the facade slip away without a fight. “Yeah, Mister Ross is here. He’s eatin’ his supper though. Urgent, you say? Well then...” Prudie turned her attention back to Ross at the table, her glare sharper and her foot now tapping as well. “It’s Elizabeth...Elizabeth Poldark.”

“Tell her I’ll call her back on my mobile,” Ross said and rose to his feet. It most likely would not be a pleasant conversation but best to get it over with. He quickly glanced at Demelza who was now staring at her plate. She hadn’t eaten a morsel of her dinner.

---

“Oh Ross!” Elizabeth did not try to hide her weeping into the phone and Ross was caught off guard by this unexpected flood of emotion. Usually it was Elizabeth who hid behind the composed facade and Demelza who concealed nothing. Tonight they seemed to have switched roles. He felt out of his depth at once.

“What is it?” Ross asked, trying to sound supportive.

“It’s Charles…” she choked.

“Is he…” He stopped before he voiced his thought, realising it would sound callous. The truth was that if Charles had died, it would be most inconvenient timing. But Elizabeth need not know that was Ross’s greatest concern.

“He’s been recommended for coronary angioplasty!”

Is that all? he wanted to say but instead offered a neutral “Oh?”

“Yes, they are scheduling it for next week and with Verity gone I didn't know who to turn to,” she cried.

“I suppose it’s good that they felt it could wait a week and need not be done immediately,” Ross stalled for time trying to sort through all the conflicting thoughts and feelings racing through his mind. He was being used, he knew it. “Have you tried ringing Verity?” It seemed an obvious question.

“I wouldn’t dare. I wouldn’t know what to say,” she replied. “Could… you?”

“Yes, of course. Text me the details and I’ll pass them along. And if you need any assistance while he’s in hospital--with Geoffrey Charles or Aunt Agatha--let me know,” he sighed, annoyed with himself for having said it. But in the not so recent past, he’d offered more concrete aid to neighbours, so this vague gesture was the least he could do for family--no matter how vexing they were.

“That’s all so very kind of you, Ross,” she said but Ross  rang off quickly to rejoin the others in the kitchen. He had no interest in her gratitude nor in continuing his role as her last ditch emotional support animal.

---

“You haven’t eaten anythin’, girl! What's wrong with you?” Prudie was chiding Demelza as he took his place at table once more.

“Are you unwell?” Ross tried not to sound as alarmed as he felt.

“No, just thinkin’, that’s all,” Demelza answered, trying to sound cheerful but failing. “I’ve got work to do. I’d better get back to…” She started to rise from her seat but Prudie abruptly grabbed her arm and forced her back down.

“Nonsense, girl. Tonight you need proper rest--no more revisin’--and you know you need fuel for yer brain so you’d better eat up!” Prudie clucked.

“Okay, okay! I’ll eat if it will make you happy and get you off my back,” Demelza rolled her eyes at Prudie and even managed a little laugh, pretending to rub her arm where she’d been held. “But you can't stop me from doin' a little more revisin’...just an hour, no more, I promise.”

“Perhaps you’d like to go for a walk later--to clear your mind?” Ross asked, carefully avoiding Prudie’s watchful gaze.

“Erm...maybe not tonight, Ross,” Demelza said softly. “Prudie’s right. I think I need to go to bed early.” She bit her lip, clearly worried how these words might be received by Ross.

“Of course,” he nodded and chastened, looked away. “I too have some work. Carnmore business. Quarterly reports I’d better read straight away before my old eyes get too tired.” 

Demelza, you owe me nothing--I hope you know that… Hadn’t he said those very words to her only the week before?

Yes, he’d graciously honour her space tonight but tomorrow they’d need to talk. This couldn’t go on. If only Prudie would leave the room so they might start now. Ross watched as Demelza forced down her food--it was so unlike her to lack an appetite--which did little to alleviate his anxiety. 

“What time is your exam? I can drive you to school tomorrow,” he offered.

“Oh thank you, Ross, but Paul Daniel is drivin’ me. He’s sittin’ for it as well, though I hate sayin’ it but I’m not really sure why he’s botherin’. I think he’s hopin’ I can give him some last minute tutorin’ in the car.”

“Then I’ll pick you up. Ring me when you're done. I’ll be in the neighbourhood anyway.” He rose from the table and despite Prudie’s presence, kissed Demelza on the top of her head before he left to go to the library.

This couldn’t go on.

Chapter 38: Pretending

The following afternoon, Ross sat in his truck for almost thirty minutes waiting for Demelza to emerge from the grey school building. For a moment he thought it resembled a factory with its soulless facade of dull stacked windows. 

They could make anything here--carpets, cardboard boxes, machine cogs. 

When he finally saw Demelza in the distance he felt a pang of regret that she couldn’t go to a better school, a fancier one, like the one Elizabeth and Verity had attended in Truro. Or at least one that was more human.

“Thank you for pickin’ me up,” Demelza said as she settled into the passenger seat. She seemed tense, dazed, still distracted.

“I told you I would,” he said. “I had business about and it was on my way. But even if I didn’t…” He started the engine and was about to pull away when he decided to face this head on. 

Now. 

“Demelza, I'd like to talk to you about something.”

“Yes,” she said apprehensively, her head hung as though she was waiting to be scolded.

“This week, we’ve both been so busy but then you’ve also...seemed a bit distant. And it made me think…”

“Yes,” she said simply. Whether she was confirming his observation or encouraging him to continue he couldn't tell.

“I’m worried...that perhaps...I don’t know how to make you happy, Demelza,” he said. It wasn’t an allegation but an opening, for he wanted more than anything to make her happy. Always. 

But then in a flash it occurred to him just how foolish, how dangerous these words were. What if she confirmed it? ‘Yes Ross, you can't make me happy. No, Ross, you are not enough.’ He wouldn’t be able to bear that. He desperately searched her face for her response.

“You seriously say that to me?” Now she looked him in the eye and screwed up her features in disbelief as if he’d just told her that metals formed ionic bonds with other metals. “Ross? Can’t you see how ridiculously happy you make me? Really, I’ve never been happier in my life. And when we’re...together...can’t you see that I’m…?” 

“Yes, I know you are ‘pleased’ in bed with me--and I love that--but I feel like there’s more you want, something you're still longing for…” He felt he was digging himself further into a hole. He didn’t dare mention the fear he’d harboured all day--that she no longer wanted him at all.

“Oh that,” she said and bit her lip. 

That.

She took a deep breath then exhaled to signal she was ready to keep talking. “Ross, what I long for is just more of you. And me. I mean, we work together--and I love that.” Now she smiled mimicking him playfully, then added, softly, “Really, I do. I hope you do as well.”

“Of course I do,” he said quickly, so relieved to see her smile brighten her face.  

“And we sleep together. Actually we don't sleep together. You watch me fall asleep and always leave before mornin’ but you know what I mean. I just wish…”

“Yes?” Now it was his turn to sound encouraging.

“I wish...I wish there was a time we could do other things together. I don't even know what, just things outside of Nampara.”

Couple things, he thought.

“But I know that's not possible,” she added quickly. “Like you said, we’re both busy and well, we can’t really be goin’ about town together. I’m not complainin’, really. And whatever you give me is enough. More than enough and more than I’ve ever had.” She paused to catch her breath. “You’re my...best friend, Ross. I just like to be with you.”  

Ross closed his eyes and exhaled the breath he felt he’d been holding for days. The crisis had passed, and while he didn’t quite have the sense to realise she’d just come as close as she could come to saying that she loved him--and that she didn't dare utter the words in case he didn’t feel that way about her--he recognised that she’d said something she desperately needed him to know. 

“I know what you mean Demelza. I wish it were otherwise. Are you sorry?”

“Sorry to be with you?” She laughed and brushed off such a silly question. He’d asked her this before and even if she sensed that he needed some reassurance on that score, she wasn’t allowing him space for any self-pity. He appreciated this about her.

And she was right. She had a life, an existence outside of Nampara, and he had to make more of an effort to understand that, to meet her on her terms. To be a friend to her as well, not just caught up in his own struggles and needs. He was going to tell her about the work they’d done today in the eastern fields but stopped himself. 

“How’d your exam go today?” he asked instead. He switched on the ignition and turned the truck on to the road.

She smiled, to let him know she saw what he was attempting to do, and her bright eyes shone, in appreciation of the gesture. Of course that had been what was troubling her all week, not doubts about Ross.

“Chemistry,” she sighed, “the one I’ve been fearin’ most. But it’s the last one this term, so there’s that to be grateful for. I’m feelin’ too superstitious to talk about it--about any of them--until I get my results. But I tried my best and don’t have any regrets about how I approached my revision.”

“You shouldn’t. You’re dedicated and have an amazing work ethic.”

“I’m not sure anyone has ever told me that before,” she laughed dismissively but it came out as a sort of snort.

“I find that hard to believe. Surely your teachers must admire you?” 

“Admire me?” She raised a brow.

“Yes, I can’t be the only one to do so.” He glanced over expecting to see her smile but instead her features were twisted in thought again. He’d need to try a different tack.

“Okay, last exam sat, anything else then before the term is truly over?” he asked and felt a pang of guilt for not having initiated such an obvious conversation before. He knew to give her space to revise and she frequently offered details so it wasn’t as though he was clueless about her school life. But he knew Prudie took a much more active interest, pumping Demelza with questions as soon as she walked in the door each afternoon.

“How’d lessons go today then?” Prudie would always start before Demelza had a chance to change into her work clothes. Prudie hung on Demelza’s every word whilst shuffling about the kitchen, switching on the kettle and putting out some sort of cake. It was always she who would end up eating it--and it was usually Demelza who had actually baked it--but it had been a ritual the two had shared for years. Prudie would want to know what Demelza’d learned, what marks she got, what the other girls were wearing, what she’d eaten for lunch. No detail was insignificant.

Ross suspected the woman was desperate to hear about other living, breathing people outside of the isolation of Nampara, and perhaps she was curious about--or entertained by--the drama of teenage life. But mostly Prudie was just tremendously proud of the girl.

And he was too, although he hadn’t told Demelza that enough. In fact, most days Ross avoided bringing up her school work altogether, lest she mistake his questioning for resentment that it occupied her attention most evenings. He’d consciously wanted to give her a wide berth to follow her own schemes and schedules and never imposed a feeling that she owed him more of her time. Now he saw that what he’d been offering as support, could be misinterpreted as indifference.

“Nope. I had a massive essay but that’s all done too. When I met with Mr. Henshawe, my English Literature teacher, he said he liked my thesis. But he didn't say he admired it,” she teased.

“Henshawe? You’re fond of him, aren’t you?” He recalled she’d mentioned him before.

“Yes, he’s so even tempered and kind but not desperate to be mates with us, like some teachers are. I hate that--it’s so dishonest to pretend to be somethin’ more when you’re not, somethin’ a relationship never can be.”

Her words stung. 

Something a relationship never can be. 

Was Ross being dishonest with her now? He didn’t think so. Surely she knew he cared about her happiness--and safety--and that he wanted to spend time with her, but did she think he was pretending in some way? Perhaps that was what had troubled her these last few days. 

But what exactly was he to her? He’d thought he knew the answer to that. It was easy enough to understand lusting after a seventeen year old girl. Plenty of men did it--he wasn’t proud--but there it was. He never hid that from her. But was there more? Loving her--that was something else. That somehow would be wrong, wouldn’t it?

“I do like Mr. Henshawe,” she cut through his tumult of dark musings. “And it’s likely I might have him again next year. That would be nice.”

“Tell me about your essay,” he asked, eager for the change of subject. It was unfortunate, for if he’d worked out his thoughts to their logical conclusion he'd realise he’d never lied to Demelza before--yet had frequently lied to himself.

“Well, we were supposed to write about a female character in Shakespeare and while all my mates snatched up Lady MacBeth for her evil or Ophelia for her innocence, I chose Viola from Twelfth Night. First of all I wanted to read a comedy and secondly, there’s so much she’s able to do that his other characters can’t--or shouldn’t do--because she’s pretendin’ to be a man. Maybe it’s not a very original idea but it was fun to write.”

He would have thought she’d choose Juliet--beautiful, young, wrapped up in a secret affair. But of course, her mind was more complex than that.

“I thought you didn’t like pretending?” he replied--a tease but also to show he’d been listening.  

“I don’t but this time it’s funny. And instructive--is that the word I want?”

“Sounds right, but what do I know? I’m just a farmer but you’re the essayist and the scholar,” he said with a smile. 

“Ross, don’t tease.”

“I’m not. I’m proud of you.” There he’d said it. “And I remember that one--Twelfth Night--I think I actually read it instead of just pretending to.” Ross flashed her his charming smile, complete with squinty eyes and cocked brow. 

“Keep your eyes on the road, Ross,” she laughed. “Stop lookin’ at me.”

“But you’re so pretty today,” he said. “Especially when you're talking about Shakespeare,” he quickly added in case she thought he wasn’t taking her seriously.

“Whatever you say, Ross,” she rolled her eyes and looked away but was unable to hide her smile. “Where are we goin’?” she asked suddenly noticing the road they were on did not lead back to Nampara nor did it lead to Redruth where they regularly had business.

“Do you want me to tell you or do you want it to be a surprise?” Ross asked.

“Erm...well I’m dyin’ to know but a surprise is always fun….Wait! Ross? You don’t know where we’re goin’ either, do you? Ross!” She laughed, beaming with pride at having figured him out, then reached over the gear shift to gently hit his arm.

“Ouch! Is that anyway to treat your driver?”

“My driver? Is that all you are to me now? Oh we’re close to the sea.” She wound down her window and breathed deeply. “I can smell it.”

“Of course that was my plan all along. To take you to the sea…” he said playfully, loving the light banter that was flowing between them. He made a swift right turn onto a back road, a short cut to Hendrawna Beach, which he knew to be a favourite of hers. “Would you like that? To walk along the beach for a while?” he added softly.

“Oh Ross! More than anythin’! Can we?”

“Yes, Demelza.”

Especially if it makes you that happy, he thought.

“We can leave the truck just up along that lay-by and walk down. The dunes aren’t too steep there. Unless you’d rather not ruin your shoes then we can go on to the wooden steps further up the road,” he asked, glancing over at her. At her age, a uniform was no longer required, but she still wore different clothes to school than she did on the farm. Today she was wearing a loose floral skirt that he recognised at once as the same one she’d worn the night they first came together in his truck. He remembered how the delicate silk felt under his rough fingers and he longed to reach out and touch it. 

“No, I prefer the longer walk down,” she said. “I can take my shoes off and carry them. They aren’t so special and it’s warm enough.”

Ross had certainly thought it before, but just then was reminded of how fortunate he was to have such an easy going companion. She never fussed about the little things, and made adjustments on the fly without pouting or berating him like some girlfriends he’d had. And she liked so many of the same things he did, especially being outdoors. Yet she had a will, a mind of her own that could not be denied. He liked that most.

He was happy to finally be able to pull over and fully turn his attention from the road to the woman at his side. The ignition switched off, he leaned over to kiss her. Her head, her skin had a familiar scent all their own. He reached behind to undo her ponytail, to feel her soft hair in his hands. Laughing again, she tried to stop him and swatted his hands away but he was quicker and managed to slide the hair tie off, despite her objections.

“Stop, Ross! The wind by the shore…”

“Will muss my hair,” he finished in a mockingly squeaky voice.

“Really, Ross? That's the best you can do?” She looked at him with a straight face that for a flicker of a moment had him worried. Then she cackled her inelegant but joyous laugh and reached out to grab the hair tie he’d snatched. This time she was faster and seized her quarry triumphantly. “Ha! Oh, but maybe we should be worried about the wind wreckin’ your pretty hair, Ross?” She mocked him back.  

She was enjoying herself and watching this gave him great pleasure. He licked his lips and waited for her next move. 

“Come here,” she said. He sensed a bit of the devil in her voice but obeyed her command. Now she raked her fingers through his curls--roughly as she knew he liked it--then gathered what she could into a pathetic little mound on top of his head. Giggling, she secured it with the hair elastic then leaned back to better inspect him. “Oh that's brilliant. You should always wear a man-bun,” she snickered, then kissed him.

Her hands in his hair, her continuous laughter, her open mouth seeking his, all served to ignite his desire and he reached over and grabbed her around the waist, pulling her closer until the gear shift caught between them. He’d had her once in the cab of this truck, why not again?

“Ross, it’s broad fucking daylight,” she reminded him as if reading his mind.

“Just down there, in the cove, there’s a deep opening in the rock face--a cave, really,” he said and moved his mouth to her neck, trying to get at as much skin as he could without unbuttoning more of her top. 

“Yes, Ross?”

“Come on!” He let go of her and stepped out of the truck, knowing she’d follow.

Chapter 39: Answers

As soon as she’d unlaced her shoes, Demelza ran up ahead of him, scampering down the steep dunes and only losing her balance once. She fell on her bottom laughing then got to her feet and raced on, unwilling to give up her lead.

“Come back here,” he called.

“Come catch me!” she replied. She'd been right. The wind by the shore was relentless. Her hair fanned out around her head and when she turned around, the long free strands blew into her face. She tried twisting it into a knot but soon gave up that futile struggle and instead fought to keep her skirt from lifting up as well.

Finally she stopped running and stood on one bare foot, like a flamingo, waiting in the soft sand for Ross to catch up. He sheepishly handed her the hair tie.

“Tell me about these,” he asked pointing to the shoes she carried in her hand. They were two-toned leather wing-tips, sturdy and laced, that she’d been wearing with white ankle socks.

“Oh--I can’t really decide if they’re ugly or edgy,” she said looking them over.

“I think they have flair.”

“Okay, that means ugly,” she laughed. “They are comfortable though. I got ‘em at that consignment shop in Perranporth. I think they’re vintage. Or at least that's what the woman who sold them to me claimed. But I happen to know not everythin’ in the place is really old.”

“Oh?”

“Yes, I sold them my dress--the one from the dance. Unless eight months old counts as antique.”

“It was certainly classic,” Ross replied. “You didn't think you'd want it for some future event?”

“I’d never wear that again if you paid me. Oh, I suppose I sound that ungrateful. I should have given you and Prudie the money I got for it…” She bit her lip.

“Never,” he said firmly then added, “I like this look on you.” It’s very mature, he thought but didn’t say. “So you like vintage clothes now?” he asked and took her free hand in his and started walking them down to the water's edge.

“Yeah, for some time. I guess the way I see it, I don’t really need much--and I don’t really want much--I mean, it’s mostly just me and the goats! But what I do buy, I really want to last, since I don’t have much money in the first place. And I sorta like the idea of reusin’ old stuff too,” she explained.

“You sound like a Poldark--they never let anything go. My father would have adored you,” Ross laughed.

She stopped and raised one brow. “Would he?”

“Eew no, never mind that,” Ross added quickly and held her hand a little tighter.

“Prudie said old Joshua had an eye for the ladies--did he like them as young as seventeen?”

“I don’t know--I don't think so.” At least I hope not. 

Good god! The thought had occurred to him before but now struck home with greater precision. He was just as bad as his father. And today--he’d been leading Demelza along the beach with the intention of taking her to some fell cave--for what? Quick public sex? What had he been thinking? Clearly he hadn’t been thinking at all. It sickened him that he too was just a lecherous old man preying on a pretty young woman.

“Ross?” Demelza asked, sensing the change that had washed over his face. “You alright?” She looked up at him with her kind, bright eyes that immediately revived his spirit. This afternoon they were the exact colour of the sea she stood before and he was once again reminded how she was so a part of the world around her, the sky above, the earth below.

“Yes,” he replied and raised her hand to his lips for a gentle kiss. “It's warm today,” he said signalling he was ready to change the subject. 

“Then you’d better take your old work boots off too,” she coaxed. “Come on!”

He laughed lightly and did as he was bid. She had a way of convincing him of anything.

They left their shoes and socks in a pile on the dry sand then hand in hand, ventured closer to the sea. The surf was calm today, the waves gently rolled on to the wet sand, then graciously retreated leaving a lace of soft foam. The cool water felt welcome on their bare feet.

“I always wanted to skim stones. Can you teach me, Ross?” Demelza asked him suddenly.

“Yeah? Happily. You need a flat stone, for starters,” he explained and looked around until he found what he sought. This one will do--here, take it. That black one will work too.”

She looked at the two stones she now held in her hand and twisted her features in concentration.

“Hold the stone with your thumb and middle finger, like this. Yes, that’s it. Then firmly hook your index finger along the edge. Now when you throw it you want it to be parallel to the water.  Let me show you.” He released it and the stone skipped over the surface three times. He cooly pumped his fist in triumph. “You try,” he said.

“Oh fuck,” she laughed when her stone plopped heavily into the sea.

“Well it’s easier if the surface is still. There might be fewer waves near the cove. But try again,” he encouraged. “It’s a flick of the wrist really.”

“Ha ha!” She squealed when her next attempt succeeded in skipping over the water twice. “I did it!”

“You’re a quick learner,” he said proudly.

“So you say, Ross,” she scoffed.

“I mean it. Don’t you believe me?”

“I think that's what you want to believe.”

He was going to chastise her for not having greater faith in her own abilities, when the terror that it might be him that she doubted--not herself--suddenly struck him.

“Demelza,” he said. “You know that last night when Elizabeth rang, we really did only speak about my uncle? You do believe me?” It was uncharacteristic of him to bring Elizabeth up in conversation but he was still unsettled by Demelza’s chilly response following the call. He felt the urge to reassure her but also gain some reassurance himself.

“Yes, Ross,” she said softly. “I know you wouldn’t lie to me.” She picked up another stone and gave it a confident toss. This time it skimmed three times.

“Oh you’re good! Ready for some friendly competition?” he said.

“Friendly?” she laughed. “If I know you, it will get cutthroat after one round.”

“No, that’s you who gets overly competitive. You are too stubborn to lose.”

“Stubborn? Um, that’s you, Ross!  But let’s go, bring it on!”

They threw their stones. The first round Ross won. On the second throw their stones hit each other and sank together, which set off no end of laughter. 

“I like this look on you,” she teased.

“Look?”

“Youthful,” she smiled.

“What do I normally look like?” he asked.

She pulled a face, overly exaggerating a grumpy brow and pout.

He laughed. Oh, she was charming. And once again she was right--he did feel playful, younger than his years when he was with her. He threw another stone and this time it skimmed the surface four times. 

“Speakin’ of youthful, are you still thinkin' of explorin’ that cave?” she asked. “Was that somethin’ you did as a boy?”

“Why? Are you anxious to be alone with me or are you afraid? I know you're not afraid of the dark.”

“No, never the dark but the closeness and maybe, the unknown. A creature--rat maybe?” 

“I’ve never known you to fear any living creature,” he laughed. “More likely an unexpected tide would be the danger.”

“Still. I’m not afraid. I'm with you so that changes things.”

“That's funny-that's how I feel about you. What’s this?” he asked, holding up her left hand. Her fingernails which she always kept trimmed short, for practical reasons--she worked in a barn after all--were unusually jagged and torn.

“Oh well I guess I was pretty anxious this whole week...with exams,” she added quickly.

“I’ve never known you to chew your nails before,” he replied.

“Oh, there's loads about me you don't know, Ross,” she laughed lightly. It was that special sort of laugh, cool, dry, playful, that she’d developed just for him, just for these relaxed and easy moments. Yes, there had been so many of late, hadn’t there?

She looked out at the sea with a calm smile on her face--seemingly content in the moment and no longer anxious, while her feet danced and wriggled, unable to contain her lively spirit. She burrowed one bare foot in the sand, then pulled it out and flexed all her toes in an attempt to get the sand off. 

Without letting go of her hand, Ross looked her up and down, then settled his eyes on her restless feet, her toes crossed in that peculiar way she sometimes held them. He’d seen her do that before while she was sitting watching telly, standing in the soft grass, stretched out next to him in bed. He always found it funny, charming, and she never realised she was doing it.

She does it when she’s happy, he thought.

And then it crystallised for him. Yes, there were loads of things he didn't know about her but also so many that he did. Ross knew her well--her habits, her gestures, her voice, her moods, her heart--and he was curious, fascinated, to learn more and forever keep learning. That tension of known and unknown, of familiar and mysterious, of predictable comfort and unexpected excitement. 

He knew what it was.

He pulled her close to him so she thumped clumsily against his chest. Then as she was laughing he bent his head gently and kissed her mouth. Slowly, purposefully. He hadn’t yet spoken but he hoped he had just relayed the message from his heart.

“Oh,” he heard her say. 

“Demelza, I love you,” He leaned his forehead against hers and pressed his cheek against hers. The words filled the space between them then slowly settled into their skin.

“Oh,” she breathed against his stubbly jawline and squeezed his hand back, threading her fingers desperately through his. 

He felt lighter than he’d felt in years and also settled, like a peg that has finally come to rest in its designated slot. But he also immediately sensed she was troubled again.

“Demelza?”

“Yes, Ross…” she whispered.

“What is it?” he asked and stepped back to better see into her eyes.

“I know it’s only a word but you see, no one--at least no one that I remember--has ever used it with me. No one but you, Ross,” she said, her eyes still closed.

Love.

“Demelza, look at me. It’s not just a word. All these weeks with you, we’ve been so happy. And today? I need you to know that. I love you,” he said it again and now stooped to look up at her down turned face. He needed to see into her eyes. “And I don’t want to hide it. Least of all from you.” He smiled and put his hand gently under her chin.

“Oh Ross…” she gasped, then swallowed hard, her eyes firmly shut. 

He could tell she was fighting the urge to cry and he almost laughed. For so long he was so caught up in keeping her safe, to protect her from pain and tears--and so easily moved by her tears when she did cry. Had it not been her tears that had started this whole thing? And now in saying the most tender, most important thing he could say, he had caused her to break down. But he had no regrets. 

She sniffed then finally looked up at him with wet eyes and a trembling smile. “I used to think I loved you, Ross,” she said.

Now he did laugh. That was not quite what he was expecting her to say. “Used to?” he asked, raising a playful brow. There had to be more to it.

“Yes,” she lowered her lids, but didn’t close them all the way, and smiled more confidently now. “I mean I used to think I knew what it meant to love someone--to love you. But my feelin’s for you all these years, my admiration--they were real but just were…”

“Yes?”

“Oh, just scratchin’ the surface! I’ve known you for so long but only parts of you, Ross, and well, ever since you brought me back from Illogan, it’s like I met a whole side of you--no, a new version of you. A you that’s for me but also for you too--a you that’s really you. Not a perfect hero but a real human bein’. I love him--you--but it's so different than the way I used to feel…”

“Better I hope?”

“Oh so much better, Ross! Deeper and like nothin’ I’ve ever understood before, so it seems a mistake to use the same word. Am I just babblin’ or does this make any sense?”

“Yes,” he smiled. “It makes perfect sense.”

He should have expected she’d have given some thought to this business. And he knew she was right. 

He reflected on the ways she’d changed with him since May. He’d been certain she liked him and might have even guessed she was in love with him, but for such a long time there had been an unequal power dynamic between them that clouded everything. He’d saved her--more than once in fact--he’d cared for her, he’d mentored her, he’d even paid her. And while she may have made the important first moves in his truck that rainy night, after that, it had been he who had initiated a continued sexual relationship with her. He had been calling the shots. Or had he?

No, he had long since ceded control. He’d come to recognise quite soon that he needed her. Desperately. And recently there’d been times, sometimes subtle and sometimes overt, when she made it clear she was there for him. To care for him--to save him if he’d let her. She saw through his false fronts of bravery and wouldn’t accept anything other than the real him, even if that Ross was weary or sad or burdened. But the irony was he felt far less sad and burdened now that he had her in his life.

She’d grown into his equal. Of course she had--it had to be that way.

“I suppose I meant to say ‘I love you too, Ross’.”

“I like the way that sounds coming from you,” he said softly.

“Then remind me to say it more often,” she smiled.

“Remind me to give you reason,” he said and pulled her close in his arms.

--

Now Ross looked around her bedroom bathed in the early morning sunlight, then down at the young woman at his side. He dared to inch closer to her head and inhaled her scent.

“Ross,” she said. It was a sigh, a breath, but also a song, and her lips settled into a smile while her eyes remained closed. Then her lids fluttered open and as she focused, her mouth trembled a bit as wakefulness brought with it a flicker of uncertainty.

“Good morning, Demelza,” he said. “You were dreaming.”

“I was. I dreamt…” she began.

“Yes?” he smiled, his eyes bright and playful, fixed on the face he’d come to know so well. He quickly pulled her up closer to him, and covered her eyelids with kisses. She laughed and nuzzled her nose against his morning stubble.

“I dreamt we were at the shore and you swam out to sea--away from me.”

“No, my love. I’m here,” he said softly.

“And so am I,” she said.

“Yes.” 

Thank god.

“I love you, Ross,” she said sleepily.

“I love you.” My sweet sweet, Demelza.

He kissed her mouth--slow, deep, deliberate. It was not desire for her that was fueling his need to kiss her. And once again the feeling both new and as old as time, swelled in his chest and took his breath away. He pressed her to him and held her for what he hoped might be an eternity, careful not to crush her with his strong arms.

In that moment he didn't feel guilt or shame about their love. Instead he thought how extremely fortunate he was to have this woman--and the love she gave him--in his life. And again he knew himself to be happy.

Don’t question it. Just hold on to it.

Chapter 40: Conversations: Part II

Wrapped only in a towel, Ross came back into Demelza’s room to retrieve the clothes he’d shed the night before. When he came through the door, she grinned, awake but still leaning against the pillows, apparently reluctant to leave the bed. 

“I’d have thought you’d use the shower in the house,” she said. “So Prudie won’t be suspicious of where you were…”

“I wanted to see you again before I hit the hopyard,” he smiled. “And let’s face it, Demelza, the days of hiding anything from Prudie are over. I think we’ll all be a lot happier this summer if we’re honest about our relationship. At least at home.”

“That’s easy for you to say, Ross. You don’t have to sit through her daily lectures on the dangers in the world,” she laughed. “Last week she went on for a full hour about how hair dye causes bladder cancer! I suspect you’ll be added to her list any day now.”

“She wouldn’t dare. I’d put money on that,” he said. 

She raised a brow in disbelief.

“Next time, my love, you’ll have to join me in the shower,” he said.

“I don’t know about that,” she blushed.

Now he laughed, his warm deep chuckle that could fill a room--and certainly a heart.

“What is it with this new found prudery?” he shook his head and moved closer.

It was curious. The day before, when they’d slipped into the cave on the beach, she’d been reluctant to let their amorous pursuits go too far. She’d unbuttoned Ross’s shirt and covered his bare chest with kisses. She’d slipped her own hand down the front of his trousers and even welcomed his under her skirt, inside her knickers. 

“Uhn…” she’d gasped when he found her wet folds. 

But then she’d put her hand to his face and pushed him away, ever so gently, before his deft fingers got her truly worked up.

“Not here,” she’d whispered. That she was suddenly too self-conscious to find her release outside the privacy of a closed bedroom marked a change from the girl, who only weeks before, straddling him in his truck, had begged him to fuck her.

And here she was today, hesitant to make love in the shower. 

But maybe that was precisely the issue. Now they were making love, not pursuing quick sexual gratification, and she wanted to do it right. On her terms. In fact yesterday when they’d gotten back from the beach, and were finally alone in her room, she was again open, passionate, eager--and adventurous. Just like a woman in love.

“Ross, I’m hardly a prude,” she replied now, but pulled the sheet up over her breasts unwittingly. “I just don’t want people to see us…”

“Behind a closed door?”

“Or hear us…”

“You have some control over that, you know. Or do you?” he raised his brow and came closer still. He knelt on the side of the bed and slowly folded back the sheet. She smiled alluringly and pulled him down to her, running her nails along his wet back. When she saw she’d succeeded in arousing him with just the one pass of her finger tips, she slipped her hand under the towel and caressed his firm backside, pressing him against her open legs.

No, she was hardly a prude.

----

“Ross,” Demelza began and started to bite her lip as she paused in whatever idea she was working out. In the past she would have used her old refrain Mister Ross, I been thinkin’, but she needn’t be so tentative in sharing her schemes now. Didn’t she know he was hard pressed to tell her ‘no’ on most things? Still she halted as if what she was going to say was a controversial proposal. Then she licked her lips ever so slightly, a gesture he found incredibly seductive. He couldn’t resist and bent over to her mouth and kissed her before she spoke again.

“Oh,” she whispered and smiled brightly.

“I’m sorry, Demelza,” he said looking away coyly. He knew she’d enjoyed it.

“Sorry for kissin’ me?” she laughed

“Sorry to have interrupted you,” he took her hand in his.

“Oh that…”

“Yes? What is it?” He was gentle in his tone and gave her hand a quick squeeze of encouragement.

“It’s just that...I’m sleepin’ with only you--I mean, of course you know that, what I meant was you are my only partner.”

“Is that about to change?” he asked. It was a tease--he felt confident it would leave her flustered. He was right and she grew serious at once.

“No, Ross! How could you think that? No, it’s only you and well, we never talked about it but I’m assumin’ that me....I’m your…”

“My favourite goat herd? Yes, you are…”

“Ross, you’re not makin’ this easy for me!”

“You are my only partner too, Demelza.”

“I’m tryin’ to say that, well, presumin’ you want it to stay that way for the time bein’ and since I’m on the pill, maybe we won’t have to keep usin’ condoms as well…” She looked up at him, anxious to see what his response might be.

“Would you like that?” Ross asked. He liked it when she discussed her own pleasure. It was one of his favourite traits about her as a lover--she knew what she wanted and stated it openly with him. And he was proud that he could please her.

“I’d like to see how it felt. I’m assumin’ it would be amazin’,” she said.

The thought was enough to cause another stir in Ross. He’d never leave her bed at this rate. He inhaled deeply, hoping his arousal might abate but of course it did not.

“It would, Demelza,” he said and pulled her close but she was too excited to stay still for long and sat up.

“Well, I can make us appointments to get all checked out and tested and cleared…” She rose to her feet and pulled on her shirt.

“Okay,” he laughed. “As soon as you can make that happen…”

“Oh I’ll get right on it,” she said, practically dancing on one foot.

He looked at her again amazed at what she had become, seemingly overnight. His bright confident lover. Would he ever get enough of her? Perhaps not anytime soon with this new development to look forward to.

----

Later that morning, once Ross had finally gotten to the tractor and out to the fields, he thought about their conversation again and hoped they weren’t making a mistake. The burden was solely on her now. But he also knew Demelza was responsible and would never miss taking her pill. In fact she always did so at precisely the same time every day. The risks were minimal.

The last time Ross had felt sexual pleasure in a monogamous relationship without the barrier of a Durex, had been with Elizabeth. But he didn't bring any of those memories to mind today. It wasn’t just that Demelza clouded his vision and eclipsed all others, but that Ross still kept his feelings and memories for Elizabeth inaccessibly stuffed away. It was as though they were stored in a lead box--they weren’t out and about disrupting his everyday life but they also were not allowed to fade or decay as they should have been. They also seemed to belong to a different lifetime--a different man perhaps.

He had no regrets about promising that Demelza would be his only partner. That had felt right and he was happy to say it out loud.  

“I think we’ll all be a lot happier if we’re honest about our relationship.” Hadn’t he said those very words to her that morning?

It was recognition of something beautiful, of how well they worked together, both giving and receiving in equal measure. Her love--their love--gave him hope.

Just then Ross’s mobile buzzed and he saw her text.

“Walk-in clinic open today. Be ready in an hour.”

Chapter 41: Neighbourly Interest

Ross was pulling out onto the main road from the long Nampara drive when a familiar car rolled to a stop. He sighed. He did not really want to talk to his neighbour, Hugh Bodrugan, who apparently was quite anxious to see him.

“Ho there, Poldark! Ah yes, perhaps you can help me out,” he started.

“Me help you?” Ross laughed. “I doubt it.” He didn't mean to appear dismissive, he just couldn’t imagine what a struggling hops farmer might be able to offer this old, landed gentleman.

“Well, you see I need a cleaner, at Werry House,” Hugh said. “You know a maid sort of arrangement but one who won't be around too much--or be part of the household--just come in behind the scenes. I'm not sure my stepmother could bear another person about the place. She’s so very particular, you know. Can you recommend someone or better yet...is your girl available?”

“My girl?” Ross asked. He was immediately disliking everything about this exchange.

“Your cleaning girl, farm hand, whatever she is to you. Prudie tells me she has a way with...dogs.” There was just a hint of menace in his emphasis that put Ross on guard, as if he expected Bodrugan to growl for emphasis. Ross also knew how unhappy Demelza would be if she’d overheard the exchange.

“Don’t call me that,” Demelza had said to Ross earlier that summer. “Girl, I mean.” It wasn’t said disapprovingly, just a sort of matter of fact request like, “Please pass the salt,” or “Could you help me saddle the horse?”

“Do I ever?” he had asked.

“No, not anymore,” she considered. “Or not to my face, but maybe you do with others. Prudie does.”

“Do you want me to speak to Prudie?” he’d offered.

“Oh, Prudie can call me girl. Fucking hell, it’s better than ‘maid’--she’s finally backed off that,” Demelza’d said with a soft laugh. She had an affection for Prudie which meant there were different standards for what Prudie could say or do than just about anyone else.

“No, of course, I won’t call you that,” Ross had said solemnly.

Of course.

Demelza was no longer a girl, she was a woman, as he was well aware and was reminded most nights. 

And as much as their physical love had become such an important--he might even call it essential--part of his life with her, it really hadn’t been her womanhood that was so moving to him recently. It was more her personhood. He’d grown closer to her, not only as a friend but as a very close one, and it was profoundly meaningful to him to know he was no longer alone. He ran most things by her now and she was inextricably drawn up in so many of the threads of his life. A true partner. But it wasn’t just the companionship that he cherished but her presence and specifically just her. 

Demelza.

He loved her. And if he had anyone to discuss it with, he just might realise how bad he had it.

“Face it, mate,” they’d tell him. “You’re in over your head!”

But his days of hanging with mates were long behind him--and really had been since he’d left the army. He didn’t dare think of the rude teasing his fellow soldiers might offer about his current relationship. In fact Ross hadn’t shared his thoughts about Demelza with another soul other than the brief statements he’d made to Verity and sheepish vows he’d made to Prudie. 

So now Ross stood face to face with a man, practically a stranger, who was inquiring about Demelza’s ‘availability.’ Ross hated himself for what he was feeling. Protectiveness but also possessiveness--and unmistakable jealousy.

What’s the matter, Poldark? You didn’t think secretly sleeping wih your teenaged employee would bring complications? Ross berated himself.

No, it wouldn’t wash. He couldn’t tell Bodrugan to piss off, he’d need to let Demelza make the choice herself. He’d always reminded her she was a good judge of character. He’d need to trust her now.

“Demelza has a mind of her own. I’ll pass on your inquiries,” Ross said noncommittally then drove off faster than he’d meant to. 

---

“I mean, maybe?” Demelza answered when Ross put the question to her. “As long as it isn’t so many hours that it would interfere with my work here. What do you think, Ross?” She meant it might be useful for some extra income that wouldn’t be coming out of his pocket, but she didn’t dare say it.

“It’s your decision. I told him you have a mind of your own. It isn’t really my concern, is it?” Ross said. “Now if you'll excuse me, I have Carnmore figures to attend to.” Then, looking back to the sheath of papers he gripped tightly in his hand, he simply walked out of the room.

“Well I never…” Prudie huffed and slapped a tea towel against the table edge like she was squashing a fly. If she’d have been able to swat Ross with it, no doubt she would have.

“Oh Prudie, he don’t mean to have mislaid his manners or start a row, he’s just got a lot on his mind. He’s essentially got two jobs now. And I suppose so do I,” she mused.

Demelza suspected money was in fact the issue, but that Ross couldn’t bring himself to say it; he’d never come out and ask her to augment her income elsewhere. Ross was cash poor right now, after his big investment in the brewery but before the harvest came in the autumn. She also knew John’s wages in the hopyard were more than Jim’s had been. Jim could hardly have demanded more--his skills and his focus were so lacking--while John had years of field experience. Maybe if she took on this extra work she could help offset the loss of Jim--or at least that was one way to look at it.

Of course what Demelza hadn’t realised was that Ross’s seemingly indifferent attitude was really an attempt to mask the discomfort that had churned in his gut ever since his exchange with Hugh Bodrugan. Ross had right away recognised it as a combination of jealousy and possessiveness, he also recognised such feelings rarely led men to act their best.

---

“Come to me," Ross whispered into the halo of Demelza’s soft hair when they met in her bed later. He nibbled her ear, trying to make up for his earlier iciness by applying a familiar tenderness.  

“Yes, Ross. I’m here,” she replied, signaling all was forgiven. And while Demelza could do little at that moment to alleviate his financial worries, she managed to ease his physical tension with her own special balm of affection and passion. 

But Ross found he held her a little tighter that night, and he hated the thoughts that flashed across his brain in the midst of such pleasure. Thoughts of someone else’s hands--wrinkled hands--tracing gnarled fingers along her smooth skin. Grasping her firm flesh.

He wished he were a peacock or some other such bird who might strut around proudly, fiercely, and send all the other rivals packing. Demelza was his treasure--he’d found her and most importantly, he loved her--and while he knew they couldn’t promenade about the county flaunting their connection, he resented the fact he couldn’t use his presence to keep her safe from leering eyes and grabby hands. 

Demelza learned to care for herself before you ever came around, he reminded himself. And she has a mind of her own. 

--

“Those folks are disgustin’!” Demelza said, slamming down her rucksack and kicking off her trainers in the doorway of the kitchen.

“I've heard my share of rumours, but do tell, girl,” Prudie came scurrying up, wiping her hands on her pinny in anticipation.

“Well I can't really say much about Mister Hugh, except he has such an odd laugh. I dunno, nervous but also...creepy? He kept out of my way but that was weird too--it was like he was afraid of me.”

Afraid of himself maybe? She thought but didn't dare say aloud to Prudie.

“And Mrs. Bodrugan, well, she’s just not really there, is she? I mean she’s sittin’ in the chair but that’s it. She just plays games on her mobile all day--it must really be all day--and she lets the dogs ‘go’ indoors! On the floors! I spent all mornin’ scrapin’ up old business and moppin’ the floor only to have ‘em come in again and do it all over. And on the rugs too. Werry House may be historic but the place fuckin’ stinks.”

“And this is comin’ from a girl who mucks out stables!” Prudie scoffed.

“Goats and pigs don't know any better, but dogs do. It's a waste and...and well, a sin to treat dogs like that!”

“What do you know about sin, girl?” Prudie laughed.

“Well I know right from wrong--and this isn’t right! No wonder their old cleaner left them.”

“Did they tell you why?” Prudie asked, intrigued.

“No doubt she’d just had enough!” Demelza pulled on her work boots. Hands on her hips, she paused at the door, and sighed with satisfaction. There might be piles of hot stinking manure awaiting her attention in the stables but she welcomed the familiarity of that work, relieved to once again be home.

--

“Erm..uh...Demelza,” Hugh Bodrugan’s voice rattled in his throat, dry and troubled. “Can you come here a minute, my girl?”

Demelza found he was barely audible over the roar of the vacuum she was running. She enjoyed the powerful suction of the industrial grade machine that apparently was necessary in a house with so many dogs. But even if it sucked up all the pet hair from the deep carved carpets in the main hallway, it couldn't do anything to diminish the pervasive stink of dog. The stale odor from their wet fur and dirty feet, the foul oily smell of their glands, and the sharp stench of old piss that just lingered everywhere. Demelza wasn’t sure what sort of miracles she was expected to perform in this house but doubted there was a cleaning product strong enough that could do the trick.

“What is it, Mister Hugh? Erm...sir,” she added, trying to appear polite. She was so accustomed to the teasing relationship she’d enjoyed for years with Ross as her employer that she sometimes forgot others might expect a servant to be deferent.

“Wondering if you could help me with this blasted wifi connection,” he said. “My stepmother brought in some techie fellow to set it all up but it’s all a mystery to me.”

“Oh I could try but I’m no expert…"

“Don’t sell yourself short, my dear. I’ve heard you are such a savvy girl, I assume someone of your youth has innate talents in many areas…” He drew out his words as though there was something else he might have meant, then offered a menacing laugh in case there had been any doubt.

“I don’t know about that.” Demelza managed to speak but inside felt on guard.

---

When Demelza came home Prudie was ready again, curious and waiting to pump her for information.

“Well? How was it then?”

“Oh she wasn’t there, just him today, so it was quiet because she took most of the dogs with her. You know, Prudie, I had forgotten that she--Mrs. Bodrugan--was Mister Hugh’s stepmum and not his wife. She's the same age as him or younger maybe--it's so hard to tell with old people. I mean, older people.” Demelza was careful to correct herself but not before Prudie gave a playful scowl.

“Yeah, Constance is ‘xactly two years older than Mister Hugh, if I remember Old Bodrugan was near on sixty when he married her and she was thirty years younger than he was. She was good lookin’ enough and he was...well he was rich.”

“Just like Charles Poldark and his wife, Elizabeth,” Demelza said and shook her head. Why were these massive age gaps considered acceptable when she and Ross, with only ten years between them and both of consenting age, had to keep things quiet? It didn’t seem fair.

And yet Demelza had long ago learned the world wasn’t fair. There were different rules for different people, things that Old Bodrugan or Charles Poldark could get away with--could flaunt even--because of their money, their names, their reputations. Most days Demelza didn't let the injustices of the outside world interfere with her private happiness at Nampara but she shuddered now thinking that careless neighbourhood gossip might threaten the precious realm she and Ross had forged together.

“I've heard you’re a savvy girl...” What exactly did that even mean? And who had been speaking about her at all? And just what was she to think of Hugh Bodrugan? 

She didn’t trust him. But she had no solid reason not to go back again. She just couldn’t mention to Ross that she felt uncomfortable with the way Hugh had spoken to her. She had nothing specific and Ross didn't have time for mere impressions and instincts. He’d laugh and tell her she was just unaccustomed to acting like an employee instead of mistress of the house--and that she needed to remember her place. 

And, of course, they needed the money. Demelza would just have to grit her teeth and bear it all--the dog stink, Constance Bodrugan’s vacant stares, and Mister Hugh’s leering eyes.

---

“Demelza, I could use your help today,” Ross said coming into the barn where she was just finishing up with the goats. 

It had rained the day before so the herd was friskier than usual, anxious to get back out and frolic after being cooped up inside. Demelza seemed to mirror their restlessness. She shifted from one foot to the other, impatient to stretch her own legs--or maybe something else had left her agitated.

“Some of the bines came undone during yesterday’s storm and we need to quickly get them off the wet ground. You know no one is as good at tying as you are...” Ross continued.

“You’re just flatterin’ me to get me to work harder,” she laughed, then twisted her lips in contemplation as she tried to work out a solution to the problem running through her mind. “Ross, I’m happy to help, but I can’t straightaway. I'm really sorry but I told the Bodrugans I’d come by today. It’ll only be for a few hours and I can go there now--to start earlier--and then if you send Prudie to fetch me at noon, I’ll still be able to get a full afternoon's work in for you?”

“I don't want to overwork you,” Ross said, trying not to sound disappointed--or bitter that the Bodrugans were a priority for her.

“You know the bines are my pride and joy, Ross!” she said, stepping closer to him. “And you’re right, John Cobbledick isn’t nearly as deft with his hands as I am with mine." She winked and traced one of her long fingers down his sweaty front, biting her lip coyly.

“I should hope not,” he said with a playful smile then pulled her close for a kiss.

---

It didn’t seem to register at all with Constance Bodrugan that Demelza showed up early. She merely shrugged a neutral greeting then traipsed through the hallway in very muddy boots out to the back garden, hounds trailing behind her. Mister Hugh, however, seemed genuinely agitated.

“Now? Hmmpf! That's not what we’d agreed upon but I suppose since you’re here... A bit unusual though, isn’t it? Or is that how things work at Nampara?” he huffed then turned his displeasure into a little dry laugh as he quickly looked her up and down. Perhaps he was imagining just how things worked at Nampara.

“I’ll just get to it then,” she said and scurried past him, looking at her feet.

Today she’d been tasked with some upholstery cleaning in what was some sort of lesser parlour. It was a big room but there was at least one other that was even bigger.

Demelza couldn’t really make out the Bodrugans and what Werry House said about them or their status. The place was clearly old with mismatched exterior details revealing the varying tastes of the centuries it had lived through, but wasn’t like one of those grand historic manor houses that were well-kept and considered national treasures. Demelza didn’t know enough about architecture to place its age with any specificity without being told--and apparently it did date back to Edward IV--she just knew it was older than Nampara. The place was surrounded by a great deal of land that was left unfarmed and used only for leisure--riding and private hunts. The bits of grounds adjacent to the house seemed tidy enough so Demelza supposed the Bodrugans must have employed some sort of staff for its upkeep.

The interior of Werry House was something else entirely. Demelza thought whoever had decorated it last must have read a design magazine back in 1968 then just left the place untouched, expecting that eventually the jewel tones and bold stripes would come back into vogue. They were almost there, she thought, but not quite yet. And whatever meagre updates to the parlours had been attempted since then hadn’t aged well. White carpets from the 90's had long turned beige while the beige upholstered chairs were now grey. 

Demelza found the whole place depressing. A house that seemed to be waiting--for what? Death? Certainly not for visitors.

And yet Mister Hugh has resources...why doesn’t he use them? she wondered. Her thoughts turned to Nampara, where things might be old but were never shabby, even though Ross had his share of financial struggles. She smiled to herself, proud that she’d played some role in its upkeep and in the touches that made the house feel cosy, even charming. At least that's what their Airbnb guests had reported in their reviews.

‘This old stone house was so amazingly charming and warm. Quaint and historic but sparkling clean and comfortable,’ had been her favourite. 

“Demelza?” Hugh called to her. He had a way of saying her name with a ominous raspiness. 

“Yes...Mister Hugh?” She came to the doorway of the small yellow room he used as some sort of study or office. It occurred to her that the walls were the same colour as the bright yellow latex gloves she was still wearing. Quickly, she removed them and shoved them in her back pocket.

“Would you...be so kind as to fill my tea cup for me? Heh heh…”

“Of course. Is there a pot already brewed somewhere or should I switch the kettle on?”

“No, not tea. I think a little brandy, maybe?” He pointed to a heavy decanter on a table by the door. 

“Come, come,” he coaxed.

She carefully poured into his cup, darting her eyes up to see when she should stop. 

“Uh...uh...uh...that’s a good girl.”

Come, come. Demelza’s skin crawled remembering the expression Constance used on her dogs.

“Ah yes, that’s it,” he panted and reached out to her. He first slid a fat finger under her hand to lift it and the decanter up, then when the brandy was no longer being poured, he slipped his hand around and covered hers.

Demelza closed her eyes and swallowed, calling on her nerves of steel so that she wouldn’t drop the decanter altogether. Hugh Bodrugan’s hand felt sweaty and soft on hers and while the touch had been slight, as though he didn’t even dare go any further, it had been enough. She was on edge, sickened, but also confused. She felt more than just annoyed--it was anger--and yet also pity for this lonely and inept old man. But what to do? 

To create a fuss, to snatch her hand away or even slap him, might make it worse. He’d say he meant nothing by it, she was about to spill his fine brandy and he was only trying to stop her from making a mess. To brush it off with a joke would encourage him, make him think it was a game she enjoyed. Better she just get away and fast.

“I'd best be back to the…” she mumbled.

“Yes well, that,” he said. “I meant to tell you, my girl, there’s a spot in the parlour--on the floor before the Chinese cabinet that needs mopping up. It’s well, you know what it is…”

“Of course,” she said and scurried from the room as fast as she could.

She knew he must have meant the main parlour, the grand room to the east of the hallway that was always closed off by massive floor to ceiling doors. She’d only been in there once before but as soon as she saw the tall black lacquered cabinet she easily located the wet spot on the floor.

Thankfully it was on the polished wood and not the carpets. Still she got down on her hands and knees with her bucket and soapy rags and went to work, wondering how one of the dogs could have gotten into the closed room. But it wasn’t worth puzzling out--nothing made sense in this house.

And while she’d done nothing but clean up dog wee and poo on each of her visits, something seemed odd about this particular puddle. She thought for a moment that it somehow didn’t smell right, but instead of investigating further she merely scrubbed harder until only the stinging scent of artificial lemon cleaner remained.

When she’d finished, she got to her feet, eager to complete the rest of her tasks here so she might get back to Nampara. Maybe she could even ring Prudie and see if she could come get her earlier than they’d planned. 

It was then she saw the tiny red light on the shelf behind her. She walked closer and recognised it as a camera on a small tripod stand, tucked amongst the old leather-bound books that seemed to be more decorative than readable. The steady light suggested it was filming or at least was switched on. Demelza had heard of people using these--nanny cams--to surveil their employees and make sure no one was abusing a child in their care or stealing the silverware. But what could be stolen from this room?  She suspected the antique cabinet was worth something but she could hardly hide it under her jumper and sneak it out of the place.

Fucking hell, these folks are strange, she thought.

--

“Somethin's not right, is it?” Prudie asked the second Demelza climbed into the passenger seat beside her. 

Demelza had been waiting out on the Bodrugan’s drive, clutching her rucksack to her tightly. Prudie was perceptive when it came to reading Demelza’s moods but any stranger would be able to decipher her body language now. She was itching to get away from the place.

“No, it isn’t,” Demelza said, knowing better than to lie but hesitant to say more.

“Did the old lady offer you insult? Or was it that Mister Hugh?”

Demelza nodded.

“You need to tell Captain Ross straightway!” Prudie snapped.

“No, Prudie. I have to figure this out for myself,” Demelza answered firmly. She’d already made up her mind. “You heard Ross--it isn't his concern. Besides I don't have any real...well nothin’s really happened...it's just things don't feel right.” 

“Trust your gut, that's what I always say,” Prudie said, her hands gripping the steering wheel tightly. “But if you need back up, you tell Ole Prudie! I’ll scratch his eyes out or I’ll send my knee right up to that old codger’s groin!”

“I have my own nails,” Demelza tried to laugh. 

“That you been bitin’ again,” Prudie chided.

“I can defend myself--if I had to, but I doubt anythin’...”

“You can use cleaner too, you know,” Prudie added. “Squirt it in his eyes…”

“Prudie, the last thing Ross needs is me goin’ to Dartmoor too--for GBH if I go blindin’ Mister Hugh! No, like I said, nothin's been done and nothin’s even been said.”

Not yet, she thought. But I’ll be on guard.

---

“What did that saucepan ever do to you?” Ross said coming up behind Demelza at the cooker. She was whisking something with such ferocity but her mind seemed elsewhere. He rested his stubbly chin on her shoulder and gave her hair a kiss.

She looked around nervously out of habit, but Prudie’s singing coming from the other room signaled they were free to sneak a moment of affection. Demelza sighed and leaned her head back to allow Ross’s eager mouth greater access to her neck.

“Smells good,” he purred. “The sauce too.”

“Thank you, Ross,” she laughed softly. “I had this lemon-dill sauce in mind all day but tell me--is it too much lemon?” She thought she might start hating the smell of citrus after so much cleaning at the Bodrugans. 

He grabbed up a spoon and tasted it, then made a face of enthusiastic approval.

“Masterful,” he groaned. “Speaking of which, John said you were indispensable in the hopyard this afternoon. As I expected.”

“He did? Well...I just have lots of experience there I suppose,” she said. Or was it innate talent? She shuddered involuntarily thinking of Hugh’s words.

“But you should have let Prudie make supper,” Ross said, gently rubbing her arm. “You’ve been busy since dawn. This is supposed to be your summer holiday, you know.”

“Well the days are longer so I can fit more work in,” she said. “Don’t worry about me, Ross.” 

He slipped his fingers around hers and lifted their joined hands to his lips. Whether he sensed she needed some reassurance today or if he’d just perfected these love gestures by habit, she couldn’t say. She held her breath thinking about how wonderful Ross’s touch always felt to her. Even before they were lovers, his attention had been welcome. Gentle pats, caring hugs, he’d even once undid her zipper when she couldn’t reach behind her. She never felt anything sinister lurked below the surface; the difference was she’d always trusted him.

“Yes, the days are long--the sun won’t set until around 9:30. Are you up for a walk to the sands after dinner? Or if you’re knackered, we can watch some telly?” he asked.

“No doubt the sea would be lovely but maybe tonight we stay in?” She wanted nothing more than to cuddle up on the sofa and bury herself in Ross’s arms, until she’d absorbed his warmth, his smell, his love. To be in her own home where she was safe and at ease.

I belong here.

Notes:

I'm grateful--as always--to Debbie Horsfield and Winston Graham for these characters. All staging, bits of dialogue and other details borrowed from their writing is done with love and admiration of their work.

Chapter 42: Know Thy Place

Ross found the drive home from Truro to be pleasant, almost enjoyable. The late afternoon sunlight dappled through the trees and any traffic moved swiftly enough. It wasn’t the road that was changed but his mood. His first meeting as part of Carnmore Brewery management had gone well. Production and sales were up, they had new distributors in place and plans were underway to really highlight the local sourcing of their ingredients, beginning with Nampara Hops. For the first time Ross felt optimistic about the venture and didn’t just see it as an impulsive--and expensive--way to demonstrate his loyalty to Tonkin.

He was also looking forward to devoting the next few days exclusively to hopyard work. He had missed the physical labour and still felt terribly constrained whenever he was required to don a jacket and tie. He missed the friendly banter with the hired hands and with Demelza. He always knew she could hold her own with the lads and the reverence they had for her was palpable. He hoped she knew how much her work was appreciated. Maybe if he spoke those words outright she’d give up her cleaning job and devote herself to the farm again. He couldn’t ask her to--he didn’t dare ask since it had been her choice. But he desperately wished she’d come to that decision on her own.

“Where's Demelza,” Ross asked Prudie when he came in the kitchen door. “Don't tell me she's still at Bodrugan’s?” He looked at his watch. Well what did he expect? If she was there, it had been her choice and he had practically pushed her out the door himself.

“No she's back. She took the horse but she's been gone for awhile now,” Prudie said.

“She’s out riding Adele? Now?” Something about that just seemed off.

“Yes,” Prudie said simply and glared daggers at him. She cleared her throat in her not so subtle way of suggesting something was amiss--something he’d needed to attend to.

--

Ross quickly changed out of his “meeting” clothes as Demelza referred to them and went out to the barn hoping she’d be back soon.  He’d timed it right--or she had--for she'd just dismounted and was leading Adele to her stall. The horse was tired and wet--clearly she had been worked hard by her mistress.

“You were gone an awfully long time,” Ross said softly and helped her take the saddle so they could give Adele a proper brush down.

“I wasn’t there,” she almost spat the word, “I was out ridin’.”

“I know. Prudie told me.” He took the saddle over to its hook and began to wipe it for her. Something told him to go slow here.

“Oh. What else did she tell you?” Demelza asked nervously, looking at her feet.

“Nothing.” He continued his careful work on the saddle.

“Oh.”

“Demelza?” he asked without looking at her. She didn’t say anything but he could hear her breathing.

“I know you said it wasn’t your concern…” she finally said.

“Demelza?” This time he turned and saw she stood before the horse, clutching her brush, her arm frozen mid air. “Demelza?” he said again, with just a little more gentle prodding, hoping he didn’t sound frantic.

“I left the Bodrugans today. I mean I think I quit. I sorta walked out without so much as a backwards glance, then walked home, the long way across the northeast fields.”

“What...why?” Ross sputtered, his mind racing. Something must have happened--all his alarms had gone off for Demelza didn’t quit things easily. He also was awash with guilt. Just minutes before he’d been hoping he could convince her to give the job up. Of course he never wished for this. This sounded like defeat--or worse. He stepped towards her and took the brush from her, then gently clasped her hands. “Tell me what happened, Demelza.”

“Well I knew they had cameras set up ‘round the place...”

“Cameras?” he interrupted, then nodded for her to go on.

“I thought they were concerned about stealin’ but today I saw ‘xactly what they were for. I doubt she even knows about them--they’re his, you see.”

“Okay, and you saw…” He was trying not to rush her but was anxious to hear just what had occurred.

“I was walkin’ by Mister Hugh’s study and the door was ajar--he must have thought it was closed ‘cause I doubt he’d want to be found out. And I saw he had two monitors which I thought was odd for a man who claimed to be so un-tech savvy! But then I saw just what he was lookin’ at…” she paused and took a deep breath like she needed more courage to continue.

“Yes,” he gulped and tried not to grasp her fingers too tightly. His own legs felt weak.

“He’d filmed...me. On my hands and knees, scrubbin’, only the view was always my backside. Throughout the house--he must have cameras in several rooms. And it was recorded, on different days--I could tell by my clothes--so it’s been goin’ on for some time…”

“And you’re sure it was you?” As soon as he’d spoken he regretted that his first instinct was to question her interpretation of events.

“Yes, it was me. I knew somethin’ wasn’t right. I said so to Prudie last week…”

“To Prudie? Last week? And you didn't tell me?” he cried.

“You said it wasn’t your concern! I thought you didn't want to be bothered. You’ve been busy with Carnmore and I thought we needed the money and…”

“Good god! Money? Oh Demelza, no, no. We’re fine--we will be fine--and even if we weren’t, I’d never want this for you!” He closed his eyes and felt his face distort in anguish. Whatever had happened to her, he was to blame. He’d pushed her away and into danger. “Oh my love, I want you to trust me…” he said. 

“I do trust you, Ross,” she replied and stepped closer to him. “And I regret not sayin’ somethin’ sooner. Besides I’m tellin’ you now. And he never laid a hand on me or nothin’. Just looked at me funny.”

“So was he just watching the video or was he…” Ross was surprised to hear the words come out of his mouth so calmly.

“You mean wankin’? I hadn't thought of that, Ross. Eeew!” She recoiled at the suggestion. “I didn't stand around, really. When I saw the screens and what was on them I just turned and left. Isn't it weird how you can catch just a flash of somethin’ but your brain can still put the full picture together for you?”

“Especially a sharp mind like yours,” he said, trying to sound more supportive than he had been. He hadn’t let her hand go. He could feel it trembling although he couldn’t be sure it wasn't his own that shook.

“Maybe it wasn’t what I thought, Ross,” she said and looked up at him with worried eyes. “Maybe he had some dishonest servants in the past and just wants to keep an eye on things.”

“Do you really believe that, Demelza?”

“No but I should have at least told him I was goin’. Maybe it seems I don’t know my place--to just walk out…”

“Your place?” He laughed and shook his head in disbelief. “Don’t let anyone tell you your place. Your place is where you say it is!”

“Yes I know that, Ross. And, well, it did feel good to just walk out.”

He wanted to grab her up in his arms--to protect her from the rest of this rotten world--but he didn't want her moral triumph to be eclipsed by his might. Then he saw her shoulders slump and knew she still felt aggrieved so he pulled her close. This time it was an embrace of comfort, of encouragement.

“Demelza,” he said gently. “I’m proud of you. And you should know…”

“Yes, Ross?”

“There is no way in hell you are going back there!”

She laughed lightly, then sniffed and settled against his chest.

“I’ll tell him tomorrow,” she said.

“Do you want me to?”

“No, Ross. If you go blusterin’ over there he’ll just assume that there’s somethin’ goin’ on between us. That you don’t want him lookin’ at me because you want me for yourself.”

“Which I do,” he said sheepishly.

“No, Ross. You don’t! You want me for myself!” She looked up at him, her eyes glistening. “Besides, I sorta have to do this--stand up to him and let him know that I saw what he was doin’ and that it isn’t right.”

“Okay, if you wish. I don’t like it but I trust your judgement."

“I might not do it in person though,” she added. “Or better yet--I’ll text his step mum.”

He laughed at the thought.

“Ross, do you need me to look for another job? I mean would it help us, the hopyard, if there was more money comin’ in from elsewhere?”

“We have some guests booked in the house in a few weeks. You know, I think your skilled labour is actually quite valuable to me now. If I lost you entirely on the farm I’d have to train someone else and even John, well you’re worth more than an army of John Cobbledicks. And of course I’d miss you.”

“I’d miss you too,” she said.

“Let’s go in. I believe Prudie is making dinner,” he said, kissing her hand.

“Oh, erm, I’m not really hungry,” she stammered.

“That’s a first!” He laughed again and stared at her. 

She had a look about her--like she’d really taken a blow. This was going to take some time to undo and there might be more under the surface that was bubbling up for her. The shadows of a lifetime of abuse and neglect don’t just disappear after weeks of kisses and caring cuddles. Just like his shadows hadn’t really vanished for good but just drifted out of view, eclipsed by the warmth and light she’d shone on them both.

“Demelza, let's go out for a bite,” he suggested. “Maybe you’ll find your appetite along the way?”

She didn't answer but raised a brow.

“Anywhere you like,” he added.

“Won’t it seem...should we really be out together, I mean so obvious-like?” 

“Over the years you and I have run loads of errands all over the county and in the course of doing so, shared lots of meals in public,” he reminded her. “We’ve been seen together before.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“I know.” 

“And people had talked, Ross, before there was even anythin’ to talk about. We both know that,” she said.

“I’m sorry that…” he began but wasn’t sure what exactly he was apologising for. Gossipy neighbours with loose tongues? An unfair world where they couldn’t just live their lives freely? Creepy tossers like Hugh Bodrugan?

“Let's go to the chippy and eat on that bench by the sea,” she said suddenly, apparently rethinking his proposal.

“The one in St. Agnes?”

“Yes, it has the best view. It’s sorta private too.”

“That’s what you want? You sure?” he asked.

“Yes, but hurry and let Prudie know before she gets elbow deep in some sort of meat pie. Tell her we’ll bring her back a chicken burger and that will quiet her,” she said and allowed herself just a little laugh.

---

It was a quiet evening. Although the chip shop was bustling with locals and tourists alike, the surrounding roads seemed empty and once they climbed up the dune from the car park and sought out Demelza’s favourite bench overlooking the sea, they felt as though they were all alone in the world. 

Ross suspected it had something to do with the hour--it was just after five--and that this window of solitude was only temporary. On such a warm summer evening, people would surely venture out later and stay up until the early hours. He and Demelza had only managed to catch a brief pause before the sea side paths would be swarming with others and their loud holiday voices. 

Appreciating the fragile calm around them, they walked silently hand in hand until they sat down and unwrapped their suppers on their laps. Ross felt relieved and perhaps even proud of her suggestion to come here. It was comforting that their desires and impulses were so aligned. Then again, they’d lived and worked and played alongside one another for years. If he reflected more on it he might have come to the conclusion that she’d learned many of her habits and preferences from him, as he’d been the single greatest influence on her young life. But in that moment he was so caught up in admiration for this lovely woman, with a generously warm heart and a mysteriously complex mind, that he wasn’t thinking of himself at all. Perhaps that’s what he’d been appreciating most about Demelza lately--her ability to distract and redirect his thoughts. Ross planted a loving kiss on her temple then settled with his arm around her.

“It’s warm tonight and if it’s anything like yesterday it won’t really cool later, even as the sun sets,” he observed.

She said nothing but slowly, deeply, inhaled the fresh salty air, as if being and breathing was a reply in itself.

A gull swooped down and tried to steal a chip from Demelza as she held it aloft. She was thinking about something and whatever it was, it was competing with her attention to her supper.

“You--out!” Ross shouted, a bit more aggressively than he’d meant.

“He’s just a bird, Ross,” she laughed.

Not Bodrugan. She hadn’t had to say it.

“I know, but are you really going to deny me the privilege of protecting my…” he stopped. It didn't really matter what word came next, she knew what he meant. Didn’t she?

She pulled another chip from her newspaper packet and chewed it slowly. The smile that she’d flashed a moment before at Ross’s chivalric attempt had quickly vanished.

“I wonder if…” she began then stopped and gazed straight ahead at the sea.

“Demelza?” he asked.

“Is there somethin’ wrong with me, Ross? Is it my fault that makes people want to treat me bad?” Now she turned to him. Her lips were twisted and her brows were knit in worry. She was serious.

“No! No!” He reached over and took her cheek in his palm, gently, tilting her head up so she could look him in the eye. “Demelza, you are amazing and strong, and people--people that matter--are drawn to you for your light. Forget the others--your father, Bodrugan, that boy--the one who last year tried to…”

“Gemma’s brother?”

“Yes, him.” Ross’s belly raged hot at the memory. It had felt so satisfying to grab the smug boy’s collar then he recalled he hadn’t acted further on his violent urges because of Demelza’s cool-headed intervention. “Demelza, they are weak. They are the problem, not you. And sadly they will keep lashing out at the world and find other targets, even if you aren’t around.”

“You must be right, Ross,” she said and kicked at a tuft of sharp grass at her feet. “If there were somethin’ wrong with me, you wouldn’t be here with me now, would you?” She looked up and smiled weakly.

“Demelza, listen to me. I am here with you now and I’m glad to be. I’m sorry we can’t be more public in our relationship but know this: I am proud to be your boyfriend.” There, he’d said it. “And that you chose me, that you like me for whatever reason,” he laughed. “You have no idea what your companionship and your affection--and your love mean to me.”

“Oh,” she said, clearly surprised. “Well then, you should know, I too am happy...to be your girlfriend, Ross” she said softly. Then she laughed. “And I don’t mind that we have to hide it--it won’t be forever. Despite all that--I think I’m pretty lucky!”

And just like that the storm cloud seemed to pass from her eyes. Mischievously she reached over and pushed a dark curl from his forehead that had been blown out of place by the light breeze, then she put a chip to his mouth and watched with a bright grin as he ate it as commanded.

He grabbed her hand and playfully licked her salty fingers while she giggled, then he wrapped his own hand around hers and brought it to his chest.

“And I’m lucky too,” he said. “You know, Demelza, I don’t think I’ve heard you curse for some weeks now...who is this genteel young lady and what has she done with my girlfriend?”

“Well I guess I’ve saved my share of cursin’ for Mister Hugh, the fuckin’ tosser…” 

“Oh there she is,” he laughed.

“So I’m afraid I’ve none left for home. Poor Ross, do you feel neglected?

“Very much. I must try harder to give you something to swear about.”

 

Chapter 43: These Idle Pleasures

Notes:

The next three chapters all take place over a single night.

July 21, 2016

4PM-7PM

“Don’t overload the tumble dryer like you always do. And there’s a ‘specially nice piece of beef in the refrigerator that should get eaten straight away. Don’t you go givin’ any scraps to Garrick though, you know how he gets sick! And when the fuel delivery comes on Wednesday, make sure he parks his lorry on the west side of the machineshed nearest the tanks--don’t let them drag the hose all across the yard!” Prudie was pulling from some imaginary list of worries she had running through her head, ticking off things to be attended to in her absence. The housekeeper was leaving for a week’s holiday with Tina, her cousin, to Skegness, her first trip away from Nampara of any real length since Ross had returned from the army. And she seemed utterly resigned that Demelza and Ross would never be able to manage on their own.

“Let me help you with that,” Demelza shoved Prudie’s bulging suitcase into the boot of the trusty Mondeo. Prudie had already packed in a four-person tent, a cool box on wheels, and a beach umbrella so apparently all bases were covered. 

Demelza wondered just what Prudie and Tina would get up to once off together. What did she even consider fun? The tent was a puzzle--Prudie didn’t seem to be one for camping outdoors, she hated both a draught and any heat. Maybe it would be the casinos or nightlife that attracted her? After so many years of working beside the woman, Demelza wasn’t sure she could actually say. 

Prudie closed the boot with a sigh then pulled Demelza into a crushing squeeze. “Don’t let Captain Ross work you too hard. This is supposed to be your summer hols, remember?“ she said in an almost wobbly voice.

“You be sure to wear sunscreen so you don’t come back lookin’ like a boiled lobster. And don’t show off too much skin and stay in threes. If you go in pairs, it will be too easy for them to separate you, ” Demelza clucked. She was having fun remembering the fuss Prudie made before Demelza’s school trip to Spain years ago.

“Oh you shush, girl!” Prudie laughed and climbed into the driver’s seat.

-----

“You look lost in thought,” Ross said coming up to Demelza as she stood in front the cutting block. 

“Yes. I'm not sure if I should marinate this slab of meat for a few months or beat it with a hammer--what the hell is this cut? ‘Specially nice? What was Prudie thinkin’?”

“Do you think she asked for it by name or does she just tell the butcher to surprise her?” Ross laughed. “Then again she doesn't have Trembath wrapped around her finger like you do…”

“Oh Ross, I do not! And I'm not complainin’--does it sounds like I am? It was kind of her to go to the shops so I could work in the hopyard.” Demelza turned around to face him, her features twisted in a grimace of concern. “Prudie tries but there are just some things she‘s blind to no matter what…”

“Demelza, no one is accusing you of complaining. You put me to shame--your heart is so generous. Over these past four years you have shown Prudie infinite patience and more respect than she’d ever received in decades with the Poldarks. I want to work for you someday,” he teased, then grabbed her by the waist and kissed her nose.

Ross had been pleased that the affection came so easily. Since he’d been alone and rather unsocialised for years on end, he worried he might have a harder time settling into the routines of love with another, that he'd be too stingy and not know how to meet her daily requirements. But he needn't have fretted that his attention would be found lacking. If anything, it was hard for him to hold back. Ross liked touching Demelza and he liked how he felt in her presence. Younger, generous, playful. His hands and lips seemed to act on their own.

Light kisses, on her eyes and her temples, or nose nuzzles along her hair or face were amongst his favourite gestures. But he also loved holding her hands. Hers were strong yet gentle and her fingers so long--he admired how they looked when intertwined with his. Sometimes when he sat next to her on the sofa or at the table, he’d gently rub the smooth spot where her thumb met her forefinger without even realising he was doing it. 

Now after he kissed her nose, he looked at her mouth and licked his lips.

“Ross?” Demelza laughed. “What is it that you're thinkin’?” She didn't need to ask. She recognised the look on his face.

“I vote marinate. We have hours to spare. There’s no rush on dinner--we have the whole evening and the whole house to ourselves.”

“I thought you’d be hungry,” she said.

“Oh I am,” he replied, and grasping her hand, led her upstairs.

---

Ross found everything about the next two hours suited him quite nicely. While the heat of the day lingered well into the evening, he appreciated that the interior of the old stone house, even its upstairs rooms, still remained cool. He liked taking Demelza freely to his bed without facing the disapproving sighs or threatening glares from the housekeeper. He enjoyed undressing and making love with the door left wide open. He was an adult in his own home and had nothing to be ashamed of. And he especially loved the ease he felt at leaving his work behind while the sun still shone, and basking in Demelza’s softness. It reminded him of the truly carefree days of his youth, a feeling especially associated with summer.

Ross also found that since they’d gotten the green light from the clinic, their new arrangement suited him very well. They both liked being able to impulsively make love anywhere, without worrying whether a condom was within reach. And Ross loved how the new sensations had transformed Demelza as a lover. She seemed to enjoy all she felt with him unsheathed inside her and was quite expressive about it--not boisterously loud, just unable to still her tongue as she softly gave him direction or narrated her own pleasure. 

Recently she’d voiced a preference for being on top.

“I just really like the way it feels,” she had explained. “I mean it always feels so good--it always has, everytime, I’m not complainin’--but when I’m upright I can better master…”

“Master?” he laughed. “You need to master my co …?” he’d begun, with a wicked grin on his face.

“Master my pleasure,” she’d interrupted with a suppressed giggle. Despite her penchant for cursing and for all her willingness to explore new aspects of their sexual relationship, she seemed to have an aversion to the word ‘cock’ when referring to that now-familiar part of Ross. 

He in return derived great amusement from this, and teasingly, frequently, tried to slip the term into their intimate conversation knowing how she’d grow flustered.

“I forget what a great lady I’ve bedded that she finds mention of a cock distasteful. Or is it this cock in particular you find so distasteful?” he had playfully riled her one night earlier that week as they lay together in her soft blue bed.

“Well judgin’ by where it has been just now, I’m quite sure you know the answer to that last question, Ross.” She had stared him down and raised a skeptical brow. “So you’re clearly teasin’ me, which is a rather ungrateful way to treat your bedmate whether she a great lady or a strumpet from the gutter. Or maybe you’re just fishin’ for compliments like some adolescent boy both obsessed with and insecure about his own phallus.”

“Such well chosen words, my lady. No wonder your English literature master admires you,” he’d continued his tease undeterred. “But may I remind you that even your beloved Shakespeare used the term cock from time to time. At least I think he did.”

“Yes, Ross, you are correct but it wasn’t always meant to be flatterin’ from what I recall. And Shakespeare had plenty of other euphemisms so maybe I should call it your pear? Your happy dagger? Or maybe you’d prefer to talk less. Shall my cherry lips kiss thy hairy stones?”

At that Ross had laughed, a deep chuckle that shook the bed. Demelza made a delightful and a formidable sparring partner. And she’d been right--she’d proven time and again that she was attentive to his pleasure, so the appendage itself was most certainly not the issue.

“It’s just too common a word for somethin’ so private and lovely,” she had finally confessed as she ran her fingers posessively along his velvety length.

He’d pulsed at her touch.

“Oh my love.” He kissed her gently to signal he was no longer jesting but instead was taking her words and her feelings very seriously. “I may tease you about your delicate sensibility but make no mistake, you are a great lady, with a beautiful heart.”

“A great lady who lives in a barn,” she’d laughed back. “Well at least we're alone up here so you can explore my charms to your heart’s delight, my lord. Now come 'die in my lap’,” she winked.

But tonight they didn’t need to be discreet about their intentions or worry about Ross slipping out of her room unnoticed in the morning. The change of scenery--his room, his bed--made everything feel special, like a holiday almost. No sounds made their way up from the empty house, all was still but for their own breath, heavy from the exertions of the evening and the soft chirrup of frogs out in the yard. A light breeze played with the curtains at the open windows and cooled them as they lay entwined on damp sheets. But they ignored the July heat, and the additional warmth they’d manufactured together, and held each other tightly.

“I love you,” he whispered, not wanting to disturb the quiet around them. She said nothing but stirred next to his dewy body.

Gripping him with both her arms and her legs, Demelza expertly rolled him over so that he was now on his back. She leaned over him for just a moment, her loose hair tickling his face, and when he reached up to push it aside, he saw purpose, desire, devilry all dance across her sparkling eyes. It was intoxicating and arousing.

“I know,” she said, her voice soft but charged.

He closed his eyes and submitted to her loving whims.

Notes:

“My cherry lips have often kissed thy stones, thy stones with lime and hair knit up in thee” is from A Midsummer Night's Dream, Act 5, Scene 1. I don’t recall anyone explaining the sex jokes when I read Shakespeare in school!

You may also recognize “You put me to shame--your heart is so generous...” from Debbie Horsfield’s S1 Ep 8 script.

Chapter 44: This Bud of Love

Notes:

The next two chapters all take place over a single night.

---

July 21, 2016

7-8 PM

“You should move into the house, Demelza,” Ross said. They’d already sated one sort of appetite that evening and had agreed to get up shortly to eat some dinner but neither one of them felt able to let the other go. It was just past seven o’clock and the evening light seemed endless. “At least consider it for the summer. You’ll find it’s far cooler than in the barn.“

“But don’t we need the spare rooms ready for guests?” she asked and twirled the hair on his chest with her playful fingers.

“No, I mean move in my bedroom, here with me. It can be our bedroom, our bed.” His voice was low and soft.

“Your bed is bigger. And I do like it though it’s mostly you that I like about it. But Ross, if I do...move in...with you here...won’t folks talk?”

“Who would even know besides Prudie?” he replied. “We never entertain, especially not with Verity gone. Unless you are referring to your mates, and I’ll say it again, you are always welcome to invite them around. And so if you felt the need to tell them about us and that you lived with me, then of course you should do so.”

“No, not them. Not yet anyway. Maybe when school starts again I’d tell them about you and me, but we’ve always sorta gone our separate ways over the summer anyway. I’ve always worked here on the farm and hung around with the local kids, while my school mates all travel or do special programs abroad. Aislin is doin’ a cookin’ class in Paris this month,” she said wistfully. 

Ross often wished Demelza had the opportunities that other kids with more resources--and any shred of familial support--seemed to have. He hadn’t voiced this to her tonight, but she seemed to read his mind, or at least his face, and waved away his concern.

“Don’t feel sorry for me, Ross. Need I remind you that for years my very survival was pretty much your doin', so in return I’m quite content to skip cookin’ school this summer and contribute all my efforts to Nampara Hops!” she said then grew quiet for a moment as she considered his proposal further.

Finally she spoke the words haltingly, just as they seemed to come to her. “Well, I dunno...I mean maybe it would work? Would it? I do think Prudie might actually be relieved to have our relationship more defined,” she said.

“Yes?” he encouraged.

“Then she’d see that it’s not just physical, but somethin’ with meanin’. And she’d be happy for us instead of just worryin’ all the time. She loves us both…”

“You think she loves me?” he laughed. 

“Ross, everyone loves you,” Demelza replied, but she wasn’t teasing. She apparently meant it. “And Prudie’s known you forever!”

“Well maybe she’s sentimental about me but she’d never admit it. So you‘re no longer angling to get rid of her?”

“Of Prudie?” she gasped.“When did I ever…?” 

“At Christmas. You told me you thought we should encourage her towards some profession more rewarding.”

“Oh fucking hell, I don't remember sayin’ that!” she laughed. “I do remember your goddamn rum though!” She giggled at the memory. There had also been a recollection of lying on the rug in this room before its blazing hearth--and feeling the room spin. Then the awful experience of waking up next to Ross in a panic. But she didn’t mention those now and instead put her nose to Ross’s chest as she sidled even closer to him in that very same bed. It was an unbelievable triumph that she sometimes still couldn't believe had happened.

“That rum was responsible for many things that night. We almost burnt the house down,” Ross said. “See what happens when Prudie leaves us on our own?”

“Oh Ross, Prudie is helpful to all of us. I saw that this spring, when I was so busy with school. And she must have given you some comfort after your father died?”

“I suppose she was company but I’m not sure either one of us would cast it as comfort.”

“You know Ross, talkin’ about how Prudie has helped over the years got me thinkin’...I miss Jim,” she sighed. “He helped too...in his own way.”

“Yes, definitely in his own way. I miss him too. Has Jinny heard from him recently?”

“His letters come steady but Jim’s never really been one for words so they’re always short. I also think...well, that he’s holdin’ back, tryin’ to sound brave. And poor Jinny’s tryin’ to believe what he says is true.” She paused. “They’re both so scared but you know, Ross? They’ve been really good for each other.”

“You really say that?” he laughed. “Good for each other?”

“I mean if you look past the unplanned pregnancy and the unlawful activity…”

“No, I’m just surprised to hear you wish your ex-boyfriend well with his new love. That’s very mature of you.” Ross was genuinely impressed by her attitude.

“Why wouldn’t I? They have such an uphill climb ahead of them. And as for me and Jim--what’s past is past. I moved on long ago.” 

She spoke so confidently, as though she’d had decades of experience, when in fact all her love lessons had only been learned over the past twelve months. This realisation came to Ross in a sudden flash and he was curious to know more.

“Demelza,” he asked cautiously. “I suppose it’s none of my business, but besides Jim, have you had other... lovers?”

“Well turns out my sexual history is your business now, Ross, since you are my exclusive partner.” She smiled and ran her hand along the inside of his hairy leg, knowing he’d be stirred again instantly, and that if she wanted to, she could easily act on it with little preparation. “And yes, there were two after Jim. Both short-lived.”

“As in, you killed them after you made love to them?” He laughed then shifted his body closer to her so there was no space between them. He found her tales entertaining and was surprised, but pleased, that he didn’t feel jealous of those who’d come before.

“Oh that’s very clever, Ross. No, I ended things. The most recent was a guy I met at a coffee shop in Truro.”

“Verity’s cafe?”

“Oh no, Verity’s place had way too much class for teenagers. I’m talking about that relatively new place in Kenwyn Street--somethin’ somethin’ Coffee House? My mates like to go there--not sure why. I guess it has some sorta hipster ambience. You know how it is when you’re young and you just want to be part of a scene…”

“Yes but it’s been awhile since I've had that sort of leisure time,” he replied, half a reflective musing, half a grumble.

“Me too!” she laughed. “And I don’t even like coffee so it meant I just always overpaid for a pot of tea. Anyway, I met Francis there.” 

“Francis?”

“I know. People are really still named that and he was what you’d expect. Well dressed, nice hair but sorta...soft but not in a good way of always bein’ kind. More like weak, maybe? I mean on the inside, not his body. He goes to that posh school in Truro.”

“Yes, Verity attended the Truro School.” And Elizabeth. He wasn’t sure why he was hesitant to say her name. Wasn’t Demelza talking about her own past loves? He needed to take a page from her book: What’s past is past. Then again Demelza hadn’t asked him about his previous love life and he shouldn’t assume she’d find all his tales amusing. Or maybe his reluctance to talk about Elizabeth had more to do with the fact that, at the moment, his unmistakable erection was pressed against Demelza’s smooth thigh and in truth, he really only wanted to concentrate on what might happen next. 

“At first we just talked and chatted online but then we went to a party together,” Demelza went on, oblivious to or at least ignoring Ross’ growing desire. “One of his mates had a huge house. Fuckin’ massive, so many bedrooms, and we all slept over. He seemed to like me so...well you know,” she shrugged.

“But he didn’t like you?” he asked.

“No, that was the problem. He really liked me. But how could he when he didn't actually know me? Well, I suppose he thought he knew me. He’d created this image of me, just based on surface and what he wanted me to be, and he wasn’t interested in ever learnin’ more. I’d try to tell him about my actual life, but he’d sorta brush me off and just tell me I was ‘perfection’...It was disturbin’ and when I broke it off with him, he got really dramatic about it. I never told him exactly where I lived so I had that to be thankful for. Otherwise he’d probably be sleepin’ under my window moanin’ and cryin’--or worse.”

“Did he threaten to...hurt you?” Ross asked and sat up quickly.

“No, the tosser threatened to hurt himself. Not openly enough but he hinted at  it. I told him he was bein’ manipulative but still passed on the number of Samaritans helpline--I’m not totally heartless.”

“You should have told me…” Ross said gently, taking her hand in his. How could all of this have happened without his notice? Had his head really been so far up his arse for months on end?

“No, I sorted it myself. Anyway that was a million years ago...around my birthday, so March?” She shook her head as if shedding the weight of that particular memory.

“Okay, that’s one. You said there were two.” He wasn’t sure why he was pressing this. 

“Yes, you remember Mark Daniel, the guy who drove me to Looe back in May? You said you know his father?”

“Mark? Really? Was this before or after he started dating Princess Eyeliner--Keren? Was that her name?” he laughed.

“Oh no! Not Mark! By the way Keren was massively into you, Ross. No, I mean his younger brother, Paul. Originally I knew Paul through Jim but he’s been my friend for some time now.”

“Is that how you treat your friends?” Ross teased.

“No, it was just the once. A bit of a lark I suppose. Almost a dare? And I was perfectly sober before you ask. Anyway Paul knew he was a rebound after Jim, and he didn’t really pressure me for more but he did hint it would be welcome. So then I sorta told him I had another bloke--an older one--so he wouldn't mope around.”

“An older bloke?” Ross raised a curious brow and grinned. “Anyone I know?” 

“No, it was pure fiction. It’s weird that way with boys. You tell them you’re not interested and they just won’t believe you. But if you tell them you’ve another bloke, then they back off. But that was also months and months ago. January maybe?”

“So you knew months ago this would happen? That I’d be your older bloke?”

“No! But it doesn’t matter really what I said, Paul probably did jump to the conclusion it was you. I don’t know why I said it was an older man…”

“You know I had offered Paul Daniel a job here in the hopyard? Now I understand why he turned me down and went to work on Kempthorne’s boat instead. If he couldn’t bear to be close to me...”

“Or close to me!” she said. “But really, I didn't plan this, Ross, I mean you and me…”

“Oh that's what a good seductress always claims.”

“I mean for a while I hoped it would happen. Or maybe I did know, somewhere deep? No, that's impossible. I think it was just a familiar longin’, a hope I'd buried somewhere far down so that when it finally came true, it felt like an old truth. Does that make sense?”

“Yes, it does. Demelza, I didn’t know that I wanted this--and in fact I would have sworn most emphatically that I did not--but now that it has happened, it's something I very, very much want.” He kissed her mouth then her breast to drive the point home. He watched as her body responded to his touch then he smiled.

“So tell me, what was it you liked about me? Back before you succeeded in your conquest, ” he asked.

“I don’t think I’d call it that, Ross. But I liked that you were kind and always did right by me,” she began.

“Is that all it takes?” he laughed. “Because couldn't you use those same words to describe Prudie? Or your literature teacher, Mister Henshawe?”

“No, Ross!” She pulled her hand away from his and gave him a playful swat on the arm then settled back against his sweaty body. “That’s not it at all. You’re also, you're really....well, I think you are the best lookin’ man I've ever known.” She threw her leg over him as though she was staking her claim. “And I like how I feel when I’m with you. Not just in bed but by your side. Okay then, may I ask, Ross--what is it you like about me?”

“A million things. Your heart and your mind, your eyes and your legs. Your sharp, cursing tongue and your sweet, sweet lips. And I love your imperfection.” 

“Erm...Ross, are you really tryin’ to charm me by tellin’ me I’m not perfect?” she snorted.

“Yes, exactly that. You, Demelza, are real. And I’m forever curious to know more about you. But does it have to be a tangible thing that I love about you? Couldn’t it be a magic combination of lots of things or a thing that just is?”

“But if you don't know what it is, if it's just a thing that happens to you, then can’t it just as easily disappear? Whereas if you can name it, describe it, you can work to preserve it? Don’t relationships have to be worked at over time...to last, I mean?” she asked.

“That is what they say, isn’t it? But I’ll be honest, I wouldn’t know. I never saw a good lasting one in action.”

“Oh…” she said simply, but he read all the doubts and insecurities in that one little word.

“But that doesn’t mean I don't imagine it’s possible. Because I do. And you should know...I’m not going anywhere, Demelza,” he added.

“Oh…” she repeated. This time it was breathy and soft and full of love and wonder. 

He pulled her up so he could look her in the eye before he kissed her again. Only when he felt her mouth melt into a sweet smile did he loosen his grip on her body.

“I guess I never have seen a good one either but there’s a lot I haven’t seen yet,” she said.

“That’s another conversation we haven’t had yet. About your future plans. After next year...” It was meant as a sincere invitation to talk; he hoped his tone didn’t sound too solemn. Just moments before he’d been impatient to act on his desire but now he felt this was important terrain to be explored. Crucial if the precious bud of their love would indeed ripen into a beauteous flower.

“Why do things have to change?” she questioned.

“Well, everything always changes, even good things shift and morph,” he said but wondered if he really believed it. “But I’m thinking about school. Where you’ll go next in your studies.”

“I don't have to go far. There are places close by. I could get a car and drive myself and still live here…”

“Or you could go to uni in another city,” he said.

“I most likely won’t do that well,” she said quickly.

“You can’t say that. And if you get some great offer you should seize it. Without looking back.”

“You wantin’ rid of me?” she laughed.

“No, I told you I’m not going anywhere. But you are still young and it's important that you explore. Then if what you want is here, you come back and set the North Coast on fire!”

“I’d be studyin’ to be a vet, Ross, fire isn’t supposed to be part of that course!” She laughed again and he liked the way it felt against his chest. 

“What about you, Ross?” she asked. “Do you feel like you’ve explored enough?

“I used to think I wanted more. To travel more,” he answered.

“You could still do that.”

“I mean go live a year abroad, working on a yacht in Thailand or on a coffee farm in Costa Rica…”

“You could still do that,” she repeated.

“Yes, but now I don't want to. That sort of work is hard,” he replied.

“But you are used to workin’ hard. You do it every day!”

“Exactly. I don't need to do it for someone else. I’ve learned I like being my own boss.”

“You’re a really great boss. But maybe you'd prefer I didn't bring that up while I'm in bed with you?”

“No, please don’t, even if you are my favourite employee,” he said then sighed. “I do feel like I saw enough for several lifetimes whilst in the army. And I was never even deployed anywhere volatile.”

“Do you want to talk about that?” she asked tentatively.

“No, not really. But if I ever change my mind, I promise it will be you that I talk to.”

“I understand. I don’t believe everythin’ is always better if you air it in the light of day. Sometimes even it if you’ve talked and talked, it’s still there, not off your chest, ‘cause it happened. And day to day, to survive, you have to divert your attention elsewhere and control your thoughts.” It was the most she’d ever really said about how she dealt with her own painful memories. She looked straight ahead for a minute then turned to him, her lips twisted.

“Look, Ross,” she said. “I don’t want to think about the year after next, not yet and not tonight. Summer hols have really only just begun and we are still in the first days of love. I want to relax and enjoy this time, the time we have right now in front of us, tonight. Does that make sense?”

“Yes it does. But when you are ready to talk, I’m ready too. I never want you to make choices based on what you think I want or because you don't want to hurt my feelings.“

“Okay, it’s a deal, Ross.”

---------

“It’s funny, it’s quite late--and I haven’t eaten for hours--but I’m not hungry in the least. Must be the heat,” Demelza said, and stretched her arms above her head. “Still I suppose it’s time we ate some supper.”

“We don’t have to do anything, you know,” Ross reminded her. “It’s a relaxed summer evening and we are young and free…”

“Young and free?” she laughed. “That so?”

“Well, maybe you truly are... I at least feel that way in your midst. But let’s go downstairs for a bit. I’ll help you in the kitchen and then we can go for a walk before the sun sets.”

“Oh, I’d like that Ross,” she smiled and reluctantly began to dress, shaking out her top before she pulled it over her head. She hated covering her skin and suspected that even in her strappy vest she’d be sweating again within minutes. “But let’s make somethin’ light and simple tonight. We can put off Prudie’s beef shoulder of whatever the hell that was, and tomorrow I’ll do a slow roast or stew that hopefully will tenderise it without compromisin’ the flavour.”

“Whatever you like, Demelza,” Ross said.

After all these years, he continued to be amazed by her skills in the kitchen, especially considering she was still so young. Sure, she’d practiced, and watched videos, and read whatever she could to learn more, but she just seemed to have an intuitive feel for cooking and could coax impressive results from even the most meagre ingredients. She certainly was handy around a farmhouse--he often thought she was born in the wrong century. But no, she wouldn’t have the opportunities she had now if she’d been alive at another time. A chance to further her education, to live apart from her abusive father, to explore different lovers, to take control of her sexual life. These were all choices she had made for herself--no one made them for her.

He pulled on his jeans then hesitated before he retrieved his shirt from the floor. He saw Demelza looking at him, biting her lip--she liked him barechested so perhaps he’d indulge her and leave it off for the time being.

“Whatever you like,” he repeated with a soft laugh and tossed the shirt aside. 

From across the room his mobile buzzed but he ignored it and instead headed for the toilet to have a much needed pee.

“Ross,” he heard Demelza call to him. “You’d better just answer it--they’ve rung you again.”

He came back and ran his hands through his hair so it stood on end. Whoever it was could surely wait until tomorrow, just like the roast and all their neglected chores.

“Hmm, I don't recognise this number,” he said but a text pinged a moment later announcing who the persistent caller had been and why she’d so urgently rung Ross.

Notes:

Chapter title comes from “This bud of love, by summer's ripening breath, May prove a beauteous flower when next we meet...” from Romeo And Juliet' Act 2, Scene. 2.

Some folks might be surprised to see Francis recast as a melodramatic teenage would-be suitor. Sorry if that confused you. The poor guy was sore he’d be cut from this AU so I had to give him a part somewhere. Who knows? Other more familiar/expected names (Malcolm McNeil, Hugh Armitage) may still show up somewhere later (maybe…I said maybe. Don’t hate me).

Chapter 45: Not So Vile A Sin

Notes:

This chapter and the two preceding chapters all take place over a single night.

---

“Self-love, my liege, is not so vile a sin, as self-neglecting.” ― William Shakespeare, King Henry V, Act 2, Scene 3

July 21-22, 2016

8:30 PM- 1:30 AM

“I’ll text you once I’m there and have a better sense of the situation,” Ross explained as he tied his shoes and gathered his wallet. He’d not only put on a shirt, but managed to find one--a clean one--that buttoned up. Demelza thought he looked handsome but doubted that had been his aim.

“You haven’t had any supper,” she fussed. “Do you want to take somethin’ for the drive? Have you at least money for the cafeteria? Hospital food can be shite but a packet of crisps from a machine might save you from faintin’.” She opened her own purse to see what sort of change she had to spare.

Reluctantly he accepted her handful of coins then kissed her on the head.

“Slow down, Ross,” she said. “Do you know exactly where you are goin’? Is your uncle still in A & E or have they moved him to the cardiology unit? These hospital complexes can be quite massive. Why don’t you enter it in your mobile now rather than try to do it whilst drivin’?”

“Good idea,” he said and looked around flustered. “Damn it! Where is my mobile?” He took the stairs two at a time and when he returned a few minutes later he slipped it into his pocket and stood by the front door, hesitant to walk through it.

“I can’t say when I’ll be back but I expect it will be late,” he began apologetically. “I’m not happy to leave you here with no one but Garrick…”

This time it was she that offered the affectionate response as she came up behind and leaned her head against his back. She kissed his upper arm and exhaled a calming breath for them both.

“Don’t worry about me here, Ross. Your place is with your family tonight--they need you. Go do what you can now. No doubt they’ll need you even more in the days to come,” she said wisely. “I love you. And don’t forget to ring Verity once you know more about your uncle.”

-----

Demelza walked barefoot through the dark and silent house, and one by one, switched on the lights in the other rooms, including the library and Prudie’s room off the kitchen. Immediately she felt foolish and retraced her steps, switching most of them off again except for the ones in the hallway and the parlour at the front of the house--and of course she kept the kitchen lit. 

Garrick lay by the back door and sighed, his evening routine thrown off. Prudie was gone, Ross had just driven away, and usually by this time of the evening Demelza would be heading toward her own room above the barn and calling him to join her. He raised his dark head slightly to look at her then lowered it back against the cool flagstones.

“I know it’s confusin’ but trust me, my dear, you’ll live,” she teased. She considered taking a photo of the forlorn expression he’d perfected, to send to Prudie, but decided against it. What if Prudie rang her back or even texted to ask how things were going at Nampara--wouldn’t Demelza then be obliged to tell her that Ross’s uncle had just suffered a heart attack? No, it was best that she not interrupt the housekeeper’s well-earned break with neither a doggo snap nor the latest family news. 

Earlier that evening she had reveled in the privacy, the freedom she and Ross had enjoyed alone in the house. But now she wished Prudie was there. Being so solitary just felt wrong, and left her almost on edge. She popped her mobile in the speaker dock Prudie had set up on the work surface and queued up some music. Maybe Nick Cave wasn’t the most cheering choice, but it reminded her of Ross so it warmed her nonetheless, and most importantly, it broke the eerie silence.

Let’s make the most of this time then, she told herself and got to work, hauling out the old dutch oven. She hadn’t planned to make her stew until the next day but thought she may as well start now. Garrick’s aspect brightened as soon as she began searing the beef in the hot pan. He tried to play it casual--first just a few sniffs, then his ears perked, followed by the soft but steady thumping of his tail in the floor--but Demelza wasn’t surprised when moments later he was at her side, gently but not subtly, reminding her with nose nudges and soft whimpers, that he deserved some nice beef scraps.

“Okay, but don’t tell Prudie,” she laughed and tossed him a rather tough bit she’d trimmed off the edges. “And don’t you dare be sick!”

The plan was to keep the cut whole then slice it into smaller pieces once it had softened and cooked down a bit. That was the technique for pot roast—would it work for stew as well? She hoped she hadn’t made a mistake. Gathering the ingredients she’d need was at least calming and gave her a sense of purpose and a reason to keep moving. Potatoes, carrots, garlic, bay leaf--she’d have to go out to the garden to snip some fresh thyme but didn't need it at this stage. The onion she’d pulled from the pantry stores was a little soft but not unusable.

Demelza was proud of her economy, especially when Ross continued to be so anxious about all Nampara expenses. When she’d first taken the reins in the kitchen, before Ross had noticed her in any other significant ways, he’d noticed her thrift. He’d remarked that while they were eating better than they ever had--actually he’d used the phrase “like kings”--their grocery bills were suddenly lower. But that hadn’t surprised Demelza. Frozen dinners, processed packets, the staples of Prudie’s default menu, were pricier than good fresh ingredients, especially if one shopped around, planned well in advance, and made use of everything. But the compliment had made her blush all the same and she’d inwardly vowed to give him no cause for complaint moving forward.

She stopped work for a moment and walked closer to the open windows. The sun was still slowly setting, the whole sky a rich layering of dusky plum and blood orange. It was such a tease on those long summer days, dragging out the whole glorious affair until all light just vanished at once and only the black velvet night remained. 

In previous years she'd have gone out to walk alone during these summer twilights, unbothered by the encroaching darkness or by her solitude. She’d always been alone then, but had she been lonely? She couldn’t say now. This older self, this loved self, was starting to feel very removed from the younger Demelza--Demelza the girl. That Demelza had always been out seeking, hadn’t she? But for what? Maybe she’d been fleeing from the empty world she inhabited, running towards whatever unknowns lay beyond the horizon. 

With a sigh, Demelza moved back to her cutting board. Now she felt she never wanted to leave what she had here. Here, for all her ties, she was free; and she worked with people she had grown to like and for a man she adored--who she loved. And in return, she was not only loved and appreciated but regarded with tender attentiveness, not just by Ross, but by Prudie as well. In this strange little family, Demelza received respect, and that had been one of the most significant developments of her life and her soul had blossomed as a result. She still had fondness for the little urchin she used to be, and hoped she hadn’t lost the curiosity that fueled those youthful wanderings, but she felt it was important to recognise she was no longer bound by the longing she’d inflicted on herself, nor by the pain doled out by others.

Why would I want to leave such happiness?

Just as she’d settled on this feeling of contentedness, the knife slipped on the slimy onion, its sharp blade nicking her finger. 

“Fucking hell,” she muttered, then laughed aloud.”That’s what you get for not payin’ attention.” And for thinking too much about yourself. She put her bleeding finger to her tongue and hoped the cut wasn’t so deep that she’d need a plaster. The offending onion was chucked in the bin and when she retrieved another from the pantry, she also brought back an unopened bottle of red wine.

Now she gave the pot her full concentration. After the onion and the meat juices caramelised, she took out the slab of meat as she’d planned, and to her great relief found it easier to slice. When the wine was added to the pot, she quickly stirred and scraped with her spoon until all the bits, rich and fragrant, had been loosened. The meat was triumphantly returned to the pot then, along with the rest of the veg and some beef stock. She found the lid to the ancient pot and lowered the heat to a simmer. It could sit now and so could she. 

Earlier she’d felt overcome by the heat, especially as she stood at the cooker, but as she stepped into the empty hallway, she felt a shiver run through her. One of Ross’s flannel shirts was folded over the back of the armchair in the parlour and when she saw it, she smiled. He had a tendency to leave his clothing about, but he always folded his things before abandoning them. It was a peculiar habit--perhaps an exacting parent had drilled it in him. That was doubtful, more likely it was a routine he’d acquired in the army. She wrapped the shirt, soft from wear, around herself and settled onto the sofa with a glass of wine in her hand and Garrick at her feet.

Now she let her mind wander to the conversation she’d had earlier with Ross. What would it feel like--what would it mean--to actually live in the house? To be Mistress of Nampara? Would she really be that or would it just be a set up, something wishful Ross had contrived--because he wanted her to be something. Could he really believe it? That she belonged there with him at his side as an equal? And if she didn't, was it something she could grow to be or would the lie, the shabby make-believe, fester over time until the bitter truth came back later to destroy everything?

She shook her head. This simply wouldn’t do--she could endure being alone that evening but not if these traitorous doubts were to keep her company. What were the words she’d used with Ross hours before? Sometimes you have to just divert your attention elsewhere and control your thoughts. She’d have to try harder tonight.

And anyway, a move into Ross’s space didn’t make sense at the moment. If they were going to continue to host Airbnb guests--and they had four more lined up in the coming weeks--it was easier to book the whole house and not the hot rooms above the barn. Why relocate all her belongings here if she’d just have to go back to her old room every other week? It was probably best to keep things as they were for the time being. And in the winter months, when they typically had fewer guests, perhaps then she could make the move. They could even save on fuel costs if the barn didn’t need to be heated just for her.

But what made sense, what her head dictated, was far different than what her heart told her.

She took a drink from her glass and closed her eyes.

-----

“Ross?” she mumbled as she sensed his shadow in the parlour door frame. She rubbed her sleepy eyes and sat up quickly.

“I was trying to decide if I should wake you,” he said softly. “You looked so peaceful, so content.” He spied the empty wine glass on the floor beside her and smiled.

“The answer always is wake me. Promise me that,” she said. “But how are you? How are...things?”

“He’s alive, my uncle,” he replied and walked towards her. “And stable. He’ll require bypass surgery in the coming days. And that will be no small affair.”

“Oh Ross,” she said. “I’m so sorry it isn't better news…”

“Let’s be thankful it isn’t worse. Do you want some more wine because I‘d like some,” he asked and left the room without waiting for her response.

“Does Verity know?” Demelza called to him but he reemerged quickly and moved to sit beside her. 

“Yes, I spoke to her from the hospital. She’s considering coming back for the surgery but doesn't want to upset my uncle and make things worse,” Ross said and poured them each a glass. “Just like her to be thinking of others instead of herself.”

“But don’t you think, Ross, that in the end, her bein’ there would mean so much to your uncle?”

“That’s a generous read on an enigmatic man. No, I take that back. There are few enigmas with Charles Poldark. He’s quite honest and open about everything and anything he feels.” He looked at the floor for a moment, then glanced up at her with warm and shining eyes. “It smells good in there, by the way. You’ve had a productive evening.”

“The stew!” she put down her glass in a panic and started to rise to her feet.

“No worries. I turned it off. There was still liquid in the pan, nothing has burnt. Someone knew what she was doing.”

“Well,  someone forgot to add the thyme but I suppose that will keep.”

“Yes, don’t rush off. Sit awhile with me,” he said softly.

“And how was Elizabeth?” she dared to ask then took a long gulp from her glass without looking at him.

“She’s as well as you'd expect. Trying to put up some brave face but she’s not all that good at setbacks. Her mother was with her so it’s Mrs. Chenowyth who will be bearing the brunt of that tonight.”

From the way Ross spoke the woman’s name, Demelza discerned there was no love lost between the two.

“I suppose she--all them--will need you in the comin’ weeks,” she said again and swallowed hard. “No matter how the surgery goes,” she added grimly.

“Perhaps Verity will return. I’ve never put much stock in traditional gender roles so no reason why my status as oldest male relative should matter so much.”

“You are also the closest, most able relative, Ross," she reminded him. “What about your Aunt Agatha--how is she?”

“Oh, Aunt Agatha didn't come tonight. She's at home--I've been told her caregiver lives-in these days, which is handy. The poor girl..erm...woman might be caring for two soon. But Agatha seems fine enough. She rang me half a dozen times. I mean she had her caregiver ring—her name is Morwenna and it was Morwenna who texted me earlier. I’m not sure my aunt has ever touched a mobile in her entire life.”

“But she and the boy will need some lookin’ after, don’t you think? If Elizabeth is busy with your uncle…”

“Geoffrey Charles? He has a nanny too so they are both attended to.”

“Still we could offer to take him sometimes. I used to mind our neighbours in Illogan so I have some experience,” she suggested.

“That's very generous of you,” he said. “And while your kindness is clearly directed at a child...”

“And you,” she added. “And your family”

“I regret that it would also benefit my uncle. I know that sounds terrible...Demelza, I'm sorry to burden you with this,” he said and looked into the glass he’d quickly emptied.

“No, it’s important to let your feelin’s out, Ross,” she said and gently took the glass from him and poured the remainder of the bottle into it.

“Didn't you just tell me that things aren’t necessarily better if you air it all in the light of day?” he tried to laugh.

“It isn’t light nor day.”

“It almost is--it’s already tomorrow…”

“Well, stop listenin' to me so closely. Ross, you are upset, and it’s probably better to get all these emotions off your chest before you go to bed or you’ll never sleep.”

“Who needs sleep?” He offered a half-hearted tease.

“Clearly you. Ross, love, you look positively knackered.” She took his hand in her hers and rubbed it the way he liked to rub hers.

He looked at her and smiled, accepting her invitation to speak.

“My uncle, I can't say he’s been a loving man. In fact he’s been down right hurtful to my father, to Verity--and well to me, in marrying Elizabeth…and yet I feel conflicted. He’s my oldest relative after Aunt Agatha,” he interrupted his own stream of thought and laughed, “It’s funny--I keep forgetting you’ve never met her.”

“Oh Ross, to be honest, I’m not sure I’m that eager to,” she said gently. She also knew it was not the time to remind him that she hadn’t cared much for Uncle Charles on the one occasion they had met. She wondered if it mattered, if it would ever matter how she got on with the other Poldarks. That was one of those unanswered questions that belonged in the box of future uncertainties, along with where she’d lay her pillow in the weeks ahead or where she would study after next year. Thoughts to be ignored for the time being.

“You know, I think Aunt Agatha would like you,” Ross said. “She isn't a kind woman--my god, she’s been cutting to us all--but I believe she'd recognise you as a formidable spirit.”

“Am I cuttin’?” Demelza tried not to sound defensive.

“No, no...just well, you’ve a spirit…” he sighed and looked around the room as though he was searching for what it was he was going to say next.

“Back to your uncle…” she gently prodded.

“Yes, maybe he has done right by me these past years more or less.”

“Maybe? More or less? Which is it, Ross?” she asked. “You sound like you are the one who needs convincin’, not me.”

“How is it possible, Demelza, to hate someone and love them at the same time?” he asked earnestly. “But I suppose you'd know how that feels, with your father…”

“No,” she said simply. “I only have one feelin’ for him and it isn't even hate.” She sat up and wrapped the shirt around her, like a protective shield. It wasn’t a chill she felt but a reluctance to discuss the man in the sanctity of the Nampara parlour. “It’s nothin’. I have nothin’ for him--no feelin’s, I mean. And there's no words, no deeds, no apologies that he could ever utter that would change that. I don't love him, Ross, and I can't. It's because…”

“Because what?” He looked up at her with encouraging eyes. He didn’t interrupt her thoughts by pulling her into an embrace, but gently ran his hand along her leg until it settled on her knee.

“Because I love you. And I love myself in a sorta way, and to love my father--who’s been destructive and cruel to me would be a betrayal to her--to me, I mean. And a betrayal to your love for me. I suppose I have you to thank. You think enough of me, so for your sake and for mine, I have... well, a responsibility to care for myself. So if I’m good enough for you to love…”

“Which you are,” he interjected quickly.

“Then I will never put up with anythin’ Tom Carne has to offer again.”

Now he wriggled closer to her on the sofa and took her in his arms, then slunk lower, burying his face in her belly. He said nothing but held her tightly, his hands around her back. The few inches of exposed skin where her top had lifted up grew wet from his silent tears.

“Oh Ross,” she said softly, and wove her fingers through his dark curls. She hated that he was distressed but was strangely consoled that he was letting her care for him, letting her love him.

Earlier that evening she’d reflected on how she was loved and respected, and how this had changed her life. Now as she held Ross close to her, she understood another, equally important truth.

She was the only one in the world who could give him the comfort he sought. 

She was needed. 

 

 

Notes:

“Here, for all her ties, she was free; and she worked with people she had grown to like and for a man she adored” and “her soul had blossomed”--these lovely words were lifted straight from Poldark: A Novel of Cornwall (Chapter 23). Couldn’t resist slipping them in here. Hope WG would understand it is intended with respect and love.

Also I imagined Demelza was listening to “The Weeping Song” while she was cooking and thinking. Listen to it here. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TqhOVY58zIo

Chapter 46: What Can Be Spoken and What's Left Unsaid

Demelza opened her eyes to the familiar ceiling beams overhead that ran east to west. Then she turned slightly and saw the dark head looking at her.

“Hey, you’re awake.” Ross’s voice was soft and attentive. His eyes shone dark, a signal she’d learned to read, a signal that meant he was feeling something deeply.

“Ross,” she said and smiled. It wasn’t often that she got to wake beside him, and she realised how much she wanted to see him just then, when her fantastical dreamscapes merged with her drowsy reality. 

Usually she started her days waking alone, with a twinge of longing, which also gave her an excuse to get up and get moving. Now she’d have no such one.

She put her hand to his stubbly cheek and rolled on her side to face him. ”I don’t remember comin’ to bed at all,” she said.

“You fell asleep on the sofa.”

“You should have woken me. I thought you promised me you always would.” 

“Did I? Well, it didn’t seem right,” he said. “Clearly you were exhausted.”

“So were you,” she replied.

“I know. I fell asleep too. It was around three that I woke and took you up here.” Now his eyes were smiling.

He’s happy now. In this moment, with me. He is happy, she thought.

“Tell me you didn't have to carry me?” 

“Not quite. But I did take the liberty to help you undress before I tucked you in.” His lips curled in the corner as though he were resisting the urge to say more or to tease her.

“So you did,” she laughed and dragged the back of her hand down her bare breasts, unaware of how alluring a gesture it was. Her still-sleepy mind was elsewhere, trying to piece together a memory of how the night before had ended. 

Ross moved closer still. With bent knuckles, he strummed the fine hairs where her head joined her neck. Those same knuckles had at times offered violence--to enemies of Queen and country and to those closer to home—but recently they’d been tamed into the gentlest of tools. Ones that had softly come to know this most hallowed of terrain worth visiting again and again.

When he put his cheek to her heart then lingered there, she began to recall the previous night with greater clarity.

Ross had returned to her, tired and distraught after seeing his uncle in hospital, and for hours afterwards, they’d talked and held each other, cuddled on the sofa. 

It had been the first time she’d ever seen Ross cry. So bleak a night, cruelly and intensely played out, but the comfort they gave each other, and the thoughts they explored together were important. She felt that then but now she saw its residuum. A new plane of intimacy for them.

She put her hand to his head and gently stroked his dark sweaty curls as he sighed into her skin.

My poor darling Ross. Others are going to need him but he’s going to need care himself. He’ll let me, I know he will, but will he know to ask for it? she thought. 

He was so close to her that when his empty stomach rumbled, she felt it ripple through her own body.

“Sorry about that,” he muttered.

“You must be starvin’. Should I make breakfast?” she asked and despite her desire to hold him tightly forever, felt somehow this was a test, and started to sit up.  

“No, lay with me awhile.” He gently pushed her back against the pillow and rolled on his back next to her.

“Of course,” she said and fumbled under the sheets until she found his hand. She wove her fingers in his and squeezed hard then took in a sharp breath before she spoke.

“What is it?” he laughed lightly. Of course he knew she was about to share her mind with him--she still telegraphed that she had a big idea long before the words came out.

“Ross,” she started, then put her fingers gently to his mouth so he wouldn’t interrupt while she gathered her thoughts. “Last night when we talked…well, I think that I’ve come to learn somethin’... I mean, if a body is upset or worried, I think it helps if a body does share it…”

“A body?” He laughed--almost a chuckle--and kissed the fingers that were still pressed against his lips.

“You. I’m talkin’ about you,” she said, trying not to lose her focus. It was a lot to tackle first thing in the morning. “It’s just that, well, Ross, you’ve been alone for so long, and over the years have learned to bottle up your hurts or take them out on yourself even--I’ve seen you do it. But last night you didn’t. Maybe it’s new to have someone to share your feelin’s with but you do have someone and…”

“And I am grateful for that. I will try my best,” he said. Cheerfully enough but brief. Was he trying to cut her off?

If I ever change my mind, I promise it will be you that I talk to. Those were the words he’d said to her when she’d asked about his army experience. She needed to trust that he would, but also knew it wouldn’t be easy. 

And that sort of intimacy couldn’t be forced, just because she fancied a deep conversation. She felt foolish for having brought it up at all.

“Of course,” she said softly and before she turned away, she saw he was trying to offer her the smile he knew she wanted. 

Then he grew serious for a moment.

“But you are right,” he said. “It feels like I’ve been alone for centuries and this is new. To have a true partner…”

“A true friend, Ross!” She exhaled in relief that he’d accepted her opening after all. “Whatever else I am to you now, I am and always have been, your friend.” Without intending to, she’d sounded so wise and assured. She was merely speaking from the heart as she often did.

“Yes, my dearest friend. Someone I love and yet... “

“Yet?” she cried softly and touched her fingertips to his face.

“I do not want to trouble you. If I share my burdens with you, as I did last night or all the other times you’ve saved  me…”

“Saved you?” Now she laughed.

“Yes, you have, we both know it. Doesn’t that not just leave you with more to shoulder? How could I do that to you?” he asked.

It was actually more than she expected him to say. But maybe he’d already been thinking it.

“No, Ross, not if you help me too, with my worries--which you always do,” she said. “And we both know it.”

“Do I?” he asked, his dark eyes burning again.

She shook her head and dismissed this preposterous question.

“Ross? How many times have you stepped in when I was in actual physical danger or made me smile when I was disappointed or sad? And not just payin’ my way to Spain or offerin’ me a ride home…”

“I told you I like driving at night.”

“I’m not talkin’ about Looe,” she said, ”I’m talkin about the day we met.”

“The only thing that truly makes sense in my life, Demelza, is to be there for you. Always.” He pulled her into his arms and held her close. A moment before when she’d looked into his eyes she’d seen his vulnerability and now she could feel his strength. 

This is what it means to love, she thought.

“Ross.” Her voice was so quiet it could barely be heard over the rustling of the sheets and creaking of the old mahogany bed.

“But Demelza...are there not things--worries, dark thoughts in dark places--that you keep to yourself too?” It was phrased as a question but meant more as a statement of fact. “And don’t tell me it’s just a matter of diverting your attention elsewhere and controlling your thoughts.” 

“Oh…” she said, feeling caught off guard. Yes, she’d spoken of her father last night. That must be what he was referring to. Of course, he’d be interested to hear more.

Had she really never thought he would, after all Tom Carne had been his enemy as well as hers? But it wasn’t merely about controlling thoughts. Some things--dark thoughts in dark places, as Ross had just categorised them--were better not put into words, not if you wanted to forget. Once said aloud, they remained that way. Fixed, forever attached to their descriptors. Sometimes it wasn’t so easy to recall feelings, but you could always recall words. 

Some pain can never be spoken.

“Nothin’ that really matters, Ross.” She managed a smile. An uncomfortable silence--a rarity between them these past few months--seemed to seep in and without realising she was doing it, she shifted, just an inch away, but enough that he noticed.

“Demelza?” he asked, pulling her back to him.

“Yes?” she tried to brush away his concern but his gaze remained trained on her. 

“Demelza,” he said again, this time more firmly.

“You know there isn’t much I can hide from you, Ross. You’re just goin’ to have to take my word,” she said.

But that wasn't quite true. In fact, all the years she’d inhabited the North Barn as his live-in farmhand, she’d hidden her true feelings from him. That she loved him. Or perhaps then she’d just gone unnoticed.

And those days were over because now, Ross had his attention focused on her.

She was roused from her thoughts when his stomach offered another unmistakable grumble. At this she laughed and sank deeper into their snuggle.

“Sorry, Ross. Some things you can’t hide from me. Time for breakfast, my friend,” she said with a wink, happy for the distraction

“I may not be able to hide my hunger but, as usual, I have other desires more pressing at the moment.” 

A dusky whisper as his lip grazed her ear, a language she understood.

“Which, as usual, you can’t hide from me,” she said.

------

As Ross headed east on Boscawen Road, he thought about just what he had left behind that morning. It felt different than other days--and there had been many days with Demelza since that rainy evening in May. 

This morning they’d again made love in daylight, the bedroom door left open as it had since Prudie left them. There was no seeking pleasure in the cover of darkness, no disapproving eyes they’d need to avoid. And that this was the first time in years that he’d been able to feel so free and so right about loving, he found troubling. Just what were these barriers that the world and he himself put up to his--to their--happiness? He was an adult, in possession of a job--or two--and of a house and land. He had a woman who loved him and he wasn’t doomed to be alone. He was able to do what he chose exactly when it suited him. So why didn’t he seize that opportunity more often and why did he allow their love to be fettered?

And this woman who loved him? At times he still felt ill at ease when he stared down such good fortune, as though he didn’t quite deserve it, deserve her. 

In the eyes of the law, Demelza wasn’t quite an adult but she was past the age of consent and she chose to be with him. He frequently reminded himself of that. Since she first invited him into her bed, he’d always been attentive to her needs and didn’t just rely on unspoken cues. He asked her time and again, what she wanted and where she wanted it, if she desired him to continue whenever he began to coax her in her pleasure. She knew her heart and her mind--and also her body.

That very morning, his hungry kisses had moved down her neck to her glorious torso, past her warm belly, further still until they found their desired quarry.

He’d learned she preferred him to start slowly--such intense sensations could be overwhelming if not handled with care.

“Too much...” she’d hissed once when he’d hit the mark too soon, and without meaning to, she’d clenched her strong legs around his head while trying to sit up.

Since then he’d promised to work her up gradually and she promised not to use her thighs as a vise grip.

Today, he’d had her almost at the point of release, when again she’d pushed his dark head away and instead pulled him up over her.

“Please, I want you…” she gasped. “I want to feel you…” 

Her hand fumbled to guide him towards her. His hand stroked the back of her smooth leg, before lifting it gently aside and nestling himself closer still. He pulsed against her soft mound but he knew to pause--she liked to savour that last moment before, so electric with anticipation.

“Oh god,” she’d cried out once he’d resisted no more and sank into her depths. 

“Demelza.” He’d sought more and more of her, not sure he’d ever be satisfied, yet knowing she’d deliver just that.

 

“Fuck!” Ross shouted and slammed the truck’s brakes.

Right before the turn off to the sawmill, a lorry filled with what looked like manure, pulled abruptly in front of him, then proceeded at such a slow pace, that Ross came dangerously close to scraping its rear gate. 

With such an abrupt halt came a terrifying thought.

Was he really certain Demelza would tell him if she wanted something else from him in bed--or wanted nothing at all? If his touch repulsed her or she just wasn’t in the mood for lovemaking or she wanted space alone, would she say it? They had spoken about it, weeks ago, and she’d claimed she would. When she was younger she was so opinionated and open--she had been the whole time he knew her in fact--that he’d assumed she was still that way with him and would remain so in their most intimate moments.

But what if that had changed? If she were caught up in their love, afraid of disappointing him or even of angering him, might she keep her true feelings to herself?  No, that was another conversation with her before.

Damn it! Are we bound to have the same conversations, circling back over and over again? 

She’d admitted that now more than ever she had more reason to find him intimidating, more reason to fear displeasing him. Perhaps he hadn’t successfully reassured her. 

The thought would have never crossed his mind had it not been for her hesitancy to talk to him that morning. When he’d asked her about her own troubles, she’d been surprisingly tongue tied. He sensed she had something to say but didn’t, or worse, couldn’t say what she felt. Not unwilling but unable to speak her mind or heart.

And I didn't give her space to speak, just plunged ahead with my greedy hands and hungry mouth.

---

It was already late, but Demelza found herself walking slower than usual as she headed towards the barn to attend her charges. It wasn’t that she dreaded her duties there or that she had started to find the wet noses and raucous bleating tedious, but there were thoughts that might just leave her once she left the solitude of the kitchen behind.

She could only hope that when she returned to the house later that morning--as she would need to do for she had responsibilities there as well--she could pick up where she left off, plucking her musings from the shelf, and following them wherever they led her. 

More and more she was beginning to feel as though she led a double life--or even a triple one. She was someone else when she was out at school or even the shops, another around the farm with the stock and with Prudie. And now this other woman, that Ross was growing closer and closer to, one she was only just now getting acquainted with herself. She wasn’t sure she liked the feeling, not quite integrated and always a little out of place. It was a new sensation, one she’d never experienced before. 

Even when things had been their worst at the Carne home, or when she was most worried about Ross sending her away, she’d always had a firm sense of the ground underfoot, of what she’d need to do next, of what she should do in the moment. She thought she at least knew herself.

But her life had grown more complex. Long ago she’d moved beyond just surviving--she was living, more fully than ever. To love and give love felt like the very meaning of life. And what she had told Ross the previous night--that she had an esteem and a love for herself now--was true. Yet that didn’t serve to simplify things, and only made her understanding of self and being feel more complicated.

Her understanding of love had changed too. 

Long before she was seventeen, Demelza had known whom she loved and always would always love. But she’d come to learn that love was not just the warm swell of affection that filled her lungs and caught her breath. That was how the love she’d harboured for Ross for years had primarily expressed itself years earlier, before he loved her back. Now her love saturated her cells and, unrelenting, occupied every waking moment like a vapour that surrounded her. Perhaps it would be forever changing.

Not a tangible thing but a magical combination of lots of things that just is.

That was how he’d described his love for her. 

She had to wonder if his love for her felt the same as hers for him. Did it matter? He’d said it, many times over now--he loved her--and Ross wouldn’t lie nor would he hastily utter something just because it was what lovers do. He loved her. 

 

The yard between the house and the barns was dusty but in the distance she could see the remaining dew dazzling the meadows. The rising sun would surely burn it off soon enough and there’d be many hot hours ahead, perhaps uncomfortably so. She was ready for it. 

She ran through the schedule in her head as she walked. She’d start by seeing that the animals had plenty of water throughout the day, as well as keeping the shady spots in the corners of the pens clear and clean. Some of them were wise enough to seek those out or to find cool mud in which to wallow, but others--those too curious, too busy, too stupid--needed reminding from time to time. Sometimes goats seemed the wisest of creatures to her and other times well, they could be unbelievably dense.

After two hours with the stock, she could slip back into the house to cool off. Maybe take a shower before she attended the breakfast dishes and laundry. Before lunch she’d make her way to the hopyard and supervise the work going on there. 

It was a small crew Ross employed at this stage of the season. At midsummer they’d cut back the lower foliage to prevent entanglements and mildew, but now irrigation and soil maintenance were their main concerns until harvest. They didn’t need more than two to handle that or sometimes even one man would suffice. Or one woman. Demelza had time and again proven herself to be Nampara Hopyard’s greatest asset.

She wasn’t as strong as some of the blokes, especially John Cobbledick who was a mammoth of a man. John was taller than Ross by about four inches and his shoulders were almost twice the width of Demelza’s. But what she didn’t have in brawn she made up for with an observant eye, deft fingers, and the ability to see both the individual plants and the yard as a whole. 

“I’d call it intuition but that would discount the enormous thought you put into it all,” Ross had praised her in front of the crew one afternoon earlier that spring. She’d asked Ross if she could do some experimenting with fertilisers in the northernmost corner of the yard where the growth hadn’t been as consistently strong. As she’d suspected, the patch she treated with a higher concentration of nitrogen and potassium had yielded some notably lush bines.

“No worries, John,” she’d teased. “Even with this fertiliser, we’ll still be needin’ loads of manure as well. So I won’t be deprivin’ you of your favourite pastime--shovelin’ shit!”

Cobbledick had laughed back. He respected Demelza and always treated her well. Not really as an equal, for he was quite cutting with the other men, even with Ross, in a way he wouldn’t dare with Demelza. But he never underestimated her or put her down due to her sex or her size or her age. And despite the foul language he was known for, he wouldn’t ever dream of making a rude comment or even one vaguely out of line, for he had also picked up on the cues--subtle and otherwise--from Ross that Demelza was off-limits.

Of course the triumph of Nampara Hops wasn’t just due to Demelza’s well-tied bines or her experiments with soil chemistry. Fortuitous weather each spring gave them sunny windows between the end of the frost and the beginning of the rain. And time itself had also worked in their favour. In the years since Ross had begun what was really an experimental venture, the roots of the rhizomes had firmly established themselves, and each subsequent season brought increased cone production. If any naysayers still doubted the viability of growing hops in that climate and locale, they largely remained quiet.

Still, Demelza felt proud to be part of something so important, for it wasn’t just Ross’s success that mattered. The success of the hopyard really meant something to Cornwall. 

Before Demelza even entered the barn she was reminded that the beasts, and of course the soiled but even the clean hay, all took on a special sort of pungency in warmer months. She exhaled, through her mouth, then flung the broad doors wide open, steeling herself.

Despite the stench, it didn’t take long for Demelza to get lost in her thoughts again. Caring for the stock was something she could do in her sleep and she’d long ago learned to make the most of her time by working out problems in her head while she went about her duties. For months those problems had been school related with her constant revision. Then she’d even found herself revising in her dreams. But now her mind wandered back to her favourite subject: Ross. 

So many feelings intermingled that she didn’t think possible to put into words. His needs, his happiness were more a concern to her than ever, but it was also his well-being that was inextricably bound to hers, and she knew she’d step in risking harm or even death if he were in trouble. 

And now a new thing had cropped up. This urge to push him or question his actions, so that he could be his best self. And it cut both ways--they both would learn new things about themselves in each other’s presence. Because of each other. They offered courage to do that sort of exploring. She thought in her love she was allowing Ross to be himself, perfectly so--and she herself with him--and yet they also became better together.

She shook her head. 

“Enough of this thinkin’!” she chastised herself aloud but knew she’d be doubling back to some of these ideas again before the morning was over.

“Mirabelle, you greedy little monster, back off!” Demelza laughed and pushed the tawny goat back with her full strength, just as a stealthy little sister--same colouring but with an impractical white bib--tried to slip out of the gap in the wire fencing. “Fucking hell, Snowbell! You’re just as much a menace.”

The rest of the herd had come to read her signals and knew to wait relatively patiently to be fed. They mostly called to her but seemed to get that if they got in her way as she entered the pen, everything would be delayed. Some goats were smart that way.

But these three, acquired that spring, were a special sort of trial. They all had to be fed separately, which was no small feat. Mirabelle because she tried to steal everyone's food, Snowbell because she needed a special ACV supplement to treat her bald spots. And then there was Bluebell, the third sister of the trio, who often gave up if the trough was too crowded, and just wandered off to look at the daisies growing at the edge of the yard.

“With such a raucous I can’t say I blame you,” Demeleza laughed when she saw Bluebell, as expected, grow distracted and slowly drift away from the crowd that morning. “But you do know there are some things worth fightin’ for, don’t you, my love?”

 

Notes:

I know it has been quite some time since I posted an update, so from the bottom of my heart, I thank anyone who returned to this story. And in case you are worried, I should have another installment next week.

Ross speaking of undressing Demelza before putting her to bed was very much a nod to that wonderful passage in The Four Swans.

Other bits of dialogue from the Debbie Horsfield scripts borrowed with admiration and respect for the emotion they convey or their rhythm and humor. (“Lay with me awhile,” from S4, ep 1. Demelza’s repeated use of the word “body” when trying to depersonalize the hypothetical scenario she describes, from S2, ep 2.)

And I couldn’t resist weaving this line in from Bella Poldark: “Demelza had known long before she was seventeen whom she loved and would always love.” Done with love and reverence. And also defiance to those who dare to question Demelza’s love for Ross (some people really do that--I don’t understand it but, to be honest, I’m not super curious to hear their reasons.)

My apologies to anyone with the Cobbledick surname. It always seems to suggest frailty to me (I think because cobble rhymes with hobble and dick with stick?) The urban dictionary tells me it is a euphemism for someone lazy.

More on hops growing here:
https://www.starkbros.com/growing-guide/article/all-about-hops

Chapter 47: Opportunities

“You look knackered, Ross,” Demelza said, glancing up from her cutting board, but only for a moment. She wisely knew to watch the blade of her knife as it ran through the thyme she’d finally remembered to gather.

“Thanks,” he laughed then came up behind her, resting his chin on her shoulder. At this she put down her knife and reached behind to stroke his stubbly cheek.

“No, I mean you’ve been runnin’ yourself ragged,” she explained. “Tonight you should go to bed early, get caught up on your sleep.”

“Not a chance.” Now his arms were around her waist and he turned her to face him.“Prudie will be back in a few days and I’m not going to waste a minute of our time alone.” 

He kissed her, his broad hands running up and down her back and waist, and when he felt her frame loosen at his touch, he sighed with content.   

How many times had they kissed in that very room? It must have been hundreds in only a few short months. There was a special ease they both felt there--the heart of the whole house really. And even when Prudie was home, it was a space in which Ross and Demelza were very likely to catch a moment alone as the housekeeper had all but abandoned cooking. 

Amused by his warm affection tonight, Demelza laughed and tried to turn back to her preparations but he wasn’t to be deterred. He took her hand in his, and began to sway back and forth, his other hand positioned firmly on the small of her back.

“What are you…?” she giggled but followed his lead and shuffled her feet in the same direction his moved.

“We’re dancing. We’ve never had a proper dance before, Miss Carne.”

“Ross!” she protested. “There’s no music!” 

“Oh, but listen, in the distance…” He cocked his head playfully.

“Those are chickens, Ross. And I think frogs!” she laughed, straining to hear the sounds of a summer evening drifting in through the open window.

“It’s very percussive. Perhaps we should try a rhumba…”

“Ross!” She almost lost her balance when he decided unannounced to twirl her, but he was ready to catch her and transformed her fumble into a dramatic dip. 

He pulled her back up and set her gingerly on her feet. 

She looked at him. Eyes bright, smile wide, teeth gleaming. A fine mist of sweat along her forehead only added to the glow on her face. Her chest rose and fell as she struggled to catch her breath and suppress more laughter.

“Are you having fun?” he asked her, but he knew the answer.

“Yes, Ross,” she said softly. “I am.”

“Do you want me to put on some real music?”

“Yes but maybe later. Now you should just sit down and let me feed you. Prudie will expect a full report on her ‘special cut’!” She rolled her eyes but still smiled. 

“If you insist,” he said and reluctantly took a seat. He hadn’t meant to groan in relief once he was off his feet, but one escaped his mouth nonetheless. 

“See?” she said, “You are exhausted.” She placed a glass of Grambler Copper Ale in front of him then turned back to the stove.

“It’s just the heat,” he tried to lie.

“Not likely,” she puffed. “Goin’ to all these Carnmore meetin’s, then tendin’ to your family, plus all the work here? It's too much! At least let me help you with somethin’, Ross!”

“You can take my Carnmore meetings,” he laughed. “Tonkin would listen to anything you say.”

“Ross, I’m serious…”

“I know, my love. You're so generous--and it seems you also have bottomless energy,” he tried to remain playful but his teasing was punctuated with another long sigh. “Look, Demelza, I’ve no choice but to leave everything here to you--which is not fair in the slightest to someone who has already worked her fingers to the bone, and who gets just as much sleep as I do.”

“I have no regrets about that,” she said with a soft smile.

“Neither do I.” He reached for her but she was moving again and just out of his grasp. “And I trust you with all things Nampara and I know that if anything occurs, you’ll ring me.”

“Or handle it,” she said confidently and placed his dinner in front of him. 

“Or at least ring me after you’ve handled it,” he conceded. 

“I know stew isn’t ideal on a summer night but…” she apologised.

“No...this is amazing.” He smacked his lips enthusiastically but it was no empty gesture. His approval was sincere. “How you found the time…”

“Thyme? There’s some growin’ just outside. Some old Poldark must’ve planted it—oh, you mean time! Well, I mostly cooked this all yesterday but...thank you.” Her proud smile could not be contained. 

Every meal Demelza prepared in the Nampara Kitchen--whether well-planned or salvaged from scraps last minute--still felt like an accomplishment to her. When she’d first took on the cooking it was an attempt to make herself more useful and to assist Prudie. And while helping others felt good, she soon discovered besting Prudie by out stripping her skills brought another sort of satisfaction. She’d never known she even had a competitive streak until then and she learned she liked winning.

Cooking was also an arena for Demelza to explore her innate curiosity and she hadn’t had many chances to do just that. She got absorbed in the problem-solving and found it a bit like science, only more creative and certainly more forgiving of improvisation. 

But the greatest reward was pleasing Ross and bringing a bit of light and joy into his life at a time when he seemed to have none. And of course, every full plate pushed the shadows of an impoverished childhood further behind her.

“Speakin’ of thyme, it looks like someone has been tramplin’ it and the other herbs in the garden. Can’t tell if it’s man or beast, though.” Demelza said and tucked into her own plate, with her signature appetite. All day long she’d felt too overheated to eat and now her hunger had caught up with her. 

“I’ll remind the men not to walk through as a shortcut to the yard,” Ross replied.

“They mostly don’t. It could just as likely be Prudie,” she laughed. “So what’s on your docket tomorrow, Ross?” she tried her best to not talk with her mouth full but just barely succeeded.

“Tomorrow? Well, I have to go up to Bodmin with Tonkin and rather early too. We’re considering buying two cone tanks from the Gaolhouse Brewery before they sell the rest of their equipment off at auction. They haven’t been in business long so everything should be in good condition, but I want to inspect the tanks myself.”

“Which means a drive to the site? At least take Tonkin’s car and you can nap on the way,” she suggested.

“Tonkin would never allow me to sleep. He has too many stories to tell.” 

While Ross liked being his own boss at the hopyard, he found an unexpected enjoyment in his new partnership with Richard Tonkin. Somehow the shared endeavour made Ross feel as though he was not just standing still or treading water, but maybe actually moving forward. Even while others floundered.

He and Tonkin were intrigued at the prospect of picking up new equipment at bargain prices but it was hardly good news that the Gaolhouse Brewery in Bodmin, a most promising start up, had folded after less than two years. In fact it served as a dire reminder that craft brewing was a fickle business and success one season could just as easily be followed by disaster.

Tonkin for his part had seemed to take the loss of his former business partner, John Trevaunance, fairly well and had quickly assumed a sort of warmth and familiarity with Ross as though they'd been mates forever. In truth they had known one another for some years--Tonkin was another acquaintance Ross had inherited from his father—but only lately had they spent much time in each other’s company. And Tonkin did love to tell tales. Of his family, of the neighbours, of people he’d never met. Always a humorous streak to them, never petty--and maybe half of them were true.

He also liked to share about his own life so Ross now knew a great deal about the man including his leaking roof that needed repairing and the troubles in his left shoulder that may or may not require surgery. 

Yet Ross was cautious about what personal details he shared about himself and life at Nampara. He wasn’t ashamed of Demelza. Her presence had enhanced and even saved his life, he knew that. She was a treasure but a secret one. Ross just wasn’t ready to explain this indescribable relationship to others, especially not to anyone who’d known Demelza as a younger girl.

Since he’d first worked with her at the Truro festival, Tonkin had always been fond of Demelza.  Time and again, he’d tried to get her to come work for him at the brewery, and boasted openly that she’d been the inspiration for Carnmore’s wildly popular summer ale.

Ross sometimes wondered if he was wrong. Maybe Tonkin would think it was destiny for the owner of Nampara Hopyard to fall in love with Nampara Girl. It would make a good story. 

It could also be a scandalous story that harmed business.

“Maybe I’ll ring Tonkin and tell him to go easy on you tomorrow,” Demelza teased and without being asked, passed Ross another dinner roll. “You said he’d listen to anythin’ I said.”

“So I did,” Ross said.

“You know I like him. It’s nice to see you with people who respect you and appreciate what you have to offer,” Demelza said.

Unlike your family. She didn’t need to say it--they were both thinking it.

“Afterwards he thinks we should go to St. Austell to see about expanding the hops contract with them.”

“But hops is your business, not Tonkin’s…” she observed.

“Yes, but he’s trying to push me to expand. If Nampara Hops make more profit then I’ll…”

“Be a better business partner?”

“Sounds cynical when you say it,” he laughed.

“No, no. He’s bein’ a friend, Ross.” She reached over and took his hand for a reassuring squeeze. “So those two jaunts with Tonkin, plus seein’ your uncle--I expect you’ll be gone until evenin’. So maybe...what about payroll for the hopyard? Do you want me to start that and then you can just look it over when you get back? I know the software.”

That was an understatement and they both knew it. In fact it had been Demelza who showed Ross how to use it when they switched over several months ago. It all seemed to come intuitively to her while he stumbled over the basics. 

“Oh, it’s nothin’ really. We just learn things like this at school,” she’d explained at the time. He’d appreciated that she hadn’t gloated even though she clearly enjoyed the role reversal. She was the master and he the eager apprentice.

And once again, because Demelza was good at something, she’d be rewarded with more work. To Ross, it hardly seemed just. But she didn’t see it that way--she saw it as yet another opportunity. 

Ross wished he had more than shabby lessons in thrift to offer her. His mind returned to the conversation they’d had about her school mates and their big summer adventures. She too deserved both fun and also real advancement. If she’d gone to a posh school she’d most likely have had a study opportunity this summer, or even an internship somewhere. 

Ross watched her face while she ate and spoke. So animated, her features unable to hide the myriad of thoughts that marched through her mind. 

How many times in the past few days has she offered to help me? he thought. He was certainly in arrears with her. But perhaps I could still… With his connections locally, it might be possible for Ross to find her an internship on his own.

He’d begin making inquiries the next day. There was no use mentioning it now.

“Ross?” she prodded. “What do you think? About payroll, I mean.”

“Okay,” he said with a sigh. “You’re right--it can’t really wait for me. But how can I make this up to you?”

“By goin’ to bed right after dinner?”

“You sound insistent…”

“I am,” she said with the proud smile. 

The smile of a master. 

Notes:

So much phrasing and staging inspired by the Poldark scripts and the glorious actors who delivered the goods. I’m grateful to them and to Winston Graham who gave us these characters.

Chapter 48: Obligations

“It’s all a bit much if you ask me--afterall, he’s not dead!” Aunt Agatha snapped when she saw Ross checking out a massive arrangement of flowers on the hall table. She almost sounded disappointed that Charles Poldark was still holding on.

“They are quite erm…” Ross began, unsure what to say that would minimize his aunt’s wrath. The blooms did smell nice. Freesia, snapdragons, hydrangeas. All full fleshed, in shades of white, from light green to creamy-almost-yellow. Tasteful. High end. A little too lovely for Charles but perhaps that had been the point. These had been selected with Elizabeth in mind.

“Yes, yes...” Agatha waved Ross away. “Apparently they won’t allow flowers in the hospital rooms anymore,” she grumped and began to make her way towards the living room without inviting him to follow her. 

He was tempted to remind her that the flower ban had been in effect since 1996 but didn’t think that would do much to improve her mood. 

“So they all got delivered here instead. It’s quite a nuisance. That pasty-faced grandson of a builder, Warleggan, sent that lot round.”

Of course.

“Where is Geoffrey Charles?’ Ross asked, noting how quiet the house seemed.

“Off somewhere, running his nanny in circles, no doubt. This latest girl won’t last the month, I wager. The boy has no discipline, no one ever tells him no.”

“Yes, well…” Another subject Ross was uneasy about exploring with her. If he agreed, he would most likely be quoted back to the boy’s mother whenever it suited Agatha. If he disagreed, then she’d sneer at how little he knew of the workings of the house, of the family, of parenthood. No, better to sit this one out as well.

A woman in her nineties, Aunt Agatha had had almost a century to perfect the art of insult and spared no one--Ross had learned that the hard way. She was in fact, Ross’s great aunt, and she often regarded Uncle Charles, who was her nephew, as if he were still a senseless youth and not an established man in his sixties. When they were small children, Ross and Verity used to joke that Aunt Agatha must have been born old, for she never seemed to change in appearance at all as she aged. Today she looked just as sturdy and as ill-tempered as ever.

“Now come sit with me and keep me company, tell me what’s going on over at Nampara House,” she called.

“Nothing really, Aunt,” he stammered. 

“Well that’s probably true. You all alone except for your staff--that Paynter woman and your little goatherd now that the Carter boy is dead.”

“Jim’s not dead,” Ross said quickly. 

“Oh, I heard he was...” she said flatly and not sorry at all if that had been the case.

“Perhaps you were thinking of his father. He’s been dead for some time,” Ross offered. Aunt Agatha had seemed lucid up to this point, but maybe she was just good at faking it.

“Oh no, well him--Old Carter--I know about. Your father was always looking after her--the mother--wasn’t he?”

It was an odd thing to say, insignificant really, yet somehow it bore an uncomfortable weight that made Ross feel ill at ease. Whatever Agatha’s intentions, words had consequences. Hadn’t she, in all her advanced years, learned that? Or perhaps she did know and that was exactly why she’d said it. The woman needed gossip like a fish needs water.

At least she wasn’t asking questions about Ross’s “little goatherd.”

“Tell me again then, how you saved Trevaunance from utter disgrace. I heard you handled all his gambling debts--most gentlemanly.”

“It was business, Aunt.” Not any old world sense of honour. 

Ross shook his head in disbelief and tried to contain a sigh. He was limited in what he could offer these other Poldarks tonight. How easily he’d been ensnared back into a sense of family obligation. They’d all but shut him out of their lives years ago or at least had thought nothing of alienating him, and now expected he would slip back into the picture and play the role of dutiful male relative.

He wondered how long Agatha would be able to feign interest in Ross’s business before she’d go back to her acidic assessments of everyone else in Cornwall and an accounting of how they’d all wronged her. He only half listened to her mumbles while he ran through his next moves for the evening. 

He’d need to return to Truro before he went home. Documents that were to be sent out first thing in the morning needed his signature. And the Carnmore office was in the opposite direction of Nampara. He should text Demelza and tell her not to hold supper--he’d grab something before he got home. 

Demelza had been right--he was worn thin. He wanted nothing more than to sink into bed beside her, knowing her softness would surely smooth his edges. Thankfully tomorrow he’d only the hopyard to attend to. No driving all over Cornwall, no meetings in which he had to persuade others of anything, no pretending to be a confident businessman or a caring nephew. And any exhaustion he’d acquire from physical labour was understandable, honest. It would feel like an indulgence to get his hands dirty again.

At least today he hadn’t had to stop at the hospital. One less obligation.

“I’m afraid a visit to Charles would be inconvenient this evening. He’s not really up to speaking to anyone, and my mother is here so I don’t really need you,” Elizabeth had said when Ross rang earlier. 

Of course Elizabeth had a right to want to be alone with her husband and if neither was up to visitors, that was understandable as well. Still, it was a strange way to phrase it. Especially considering the way she had collapsed so completely in Ross’s arms the night of Uncle Charles’s heart attack.

“Oh Ross, I can’t lose him,” she’d sobbed into Ross’s shoulder. “I just couldn’t bear it. I just couldn’t. What shall we do? Ross, please help us…”  Her knees had buckled under her and Ross had felt her full weight in his arms as she clung to him.

He’d been grateful for the entrance of the doctor at that moment. Somehow Elizabeth had managed to pull herself upright at once and even her tears had disappeared instantly. The breakdown was apparently reserved for Ross alone, and any signs of weakness on her part were not for public consumption.

This evening, the composed facade was again intact. Although Ross couldn’t see her, he heard it through the phone. He imagined not an eyelash out of place on her beautiful face. 

“Perhaps you could stop by and visit with Agatha? She’s feeling a bit neglected, and you know how she is when she’s sorry for herself.” Elizabeth had icily suggested. 

But Ross recognised it was better if Elizabeth wasn’t so desperate, if she wasn’t clinging and needy--especially when he was limited in what he could do.

 

“You’ll come again tomorrow then, boy?” Agatha called to him as he made himself ready to leave.  

Whenever she called him 'boy' Ross wondered if it was because she still saw him that way or if she just couldn’t keep all the Poldark names straight.

“I will try but I can’t promise,” he stammered, unhappy at the idea. So much for a day of losing himself in Nampara soil.

“More flowers just arrived.” Morwenna, the young woman who attended to Agatha Poldark met Ross in the hallway and looked to him with wide eyes while holding another massive arrangement. “Where shall I put these?”

It took Ross a moment to realise she was asking him of all people.

“I’m afraid I don’t know,” he muttered but as he crossed the threshold he heard Agatha shouting out.

“Well then chuck the ones that came yesterday if we’ve no more room. Use your head, girl!”

---

Ross drove south, away from Trenwith Road, and felt a pang of regret, the second time in 24 hours he’d lamented Demelza’s neglect. She would have loved flowers like those the Trenwith Poldarks now considered an inconvenience. He could imagine her dancing with excitement, allowing them to fill each room in the house, perhaps tucking a bloom or two in her wild hair. She loved all flora--and fauna too. Any life, really. 

Ross doubted anyone had ever given her flowers. He never had and certainly neither had Jim, although it was possible that in his quest to make her love him, Francis, the school boy from Truro, might have presented her with some silly bouquet, or even a single red rose. In a bizarre twist, Ross hoped he had--he didn’t exactly like the thought of someone else vying for Demelza’s affection, but he did like the idea of her being happy.

Ross glanced at the clock on the dashboard. The Tesco at Garras Wharf was open until midnight. He could stop back at the Carnmore offices, review the documents Tonkin needed him to sign, then pick up flowers for Demelza before he headed home.

-----

“Verity!” Demelza squealed into the phone. The landline was so rarely used by anyone other than Prudie so when it rang, it had given Demelza a start. Pulled from her accounting reverie, she’d picked up without first checking to see who was calling, and was most relieved that it wasn’t someone horrid.

“Demelza! It’s so lovely to speak to you!”

“Ross isn’t here, I’m afraid,” Demelza said. She could hear the fragility in Verity’s voice and wanted to give her space to back out of a conversation with her if she wasn’t up for it.

“No, it's actually you I wished to speak to,” Verity replied. “I rang your mobile first. I’m glad it was you that answered…”

“Well I’m the only one here. Prudie’s out of town and even if she weren’t, she’d be sound asleep by now! What is it? Is everythin’ okay? Oh, I’m sorry--I know it isn't, only I meant…” Demelza hadn’t meant to ramble on so. In an instant she realised she hadn’t spoken to another human for almost seven hours, then she remembered she’d left her mobile in the barn.

“No, no news. Nothing has changed. I...well...I’m wondering…” Verity started then cleared her throat before finding the courage she needed to go on. “I was hoping to get your opinion about something, what you think…”

“What I think?” Demelza laughed. “Erm, I’m honoured but can’t imagine what advice on anythin’ I could ever offer!”

“No, hear me out. I’m thinking of coming to see Father.” Verity exhaled a long sigh. Just to say the words had taken a lot out of her.

“Oh! Yes, well, I can see that’s not an easy decision,” Demelza replied. “But, tell me, what do you want to do?”

“You’re the first who has asked me that. Directly, I mean,” Verity said. “I do want to see him--if something should...happen and I missed a chance to say goodbye or the opportunity for us to…”

She didn't dare say the word reconcile but Demelza understood it all the same.

“And?” Demelza asked, sensing there was more Verity wanted to say.

“And I still cannot forgive him for his cruelty.” Now the tears were audible in Verity’s always gentle voice.

“Oh Verity! Isn’t it funny how two conflictin’ thoughts can live side by side in us?” Demelza said softly. She moved further into the cool study without switching on the lamp, and sat back down at Ross’s desk, pulling her legs up under her.

“Yes,” Verity agreed and took a few quick sniffs. “Andrea thinks I shouldn't go. That I’ll only be asking for more abuse or at best, disappointment. And I do feel a loyalty to her--she’s been hurt by Father just as much as I have. And to drag her through all this again, after we’ve been so settled and so happy? And then Ross…”

“What does Ross think?” Demelza asked, trying not to sound overly curious. He hadn’t mentioned he’d spoken to Verity again but he’d been so busy, pulled in so many directions the past few days that such an oversight wasn’t a terrible surprise.

“Ross says nothing at all! You know him--he believes it has to be my decision alone because in the end it is me that will have to live with it.”

“That sounds like him,” she said recalling the miscommunication they'd had over her short-lived job at the Bodrugans. “So he’s not offered his thoughts at all?” she asked. 

“No, he hasn’t. But Elizabeth has. She’s firmly against my visit--she’s worried it will rile Father and set his recovery back.”

“But maybe he’d be relieved that you came...Oh I’m sorry. It’s not my place…” Demelza cut herself off without finishing.

To contradict Elizabeth, she thought. She suspected few people ever did that.

“No, Demelza. That’s why I rang you. I thought that you’d, well, you’d understand complicated family relationships.”

“Not sure I understand them,” she snorted, “but I am familiar with them.” This wasn’t the time to tell Verity she’d recently come to see her connection to Tom Carne was in fact not very complicated at all. She’d severed that tie and would never waver on that score--even if the man were dying. But she could sense Verity’s love for her father was different. It was still there and she needed to face it.

“Oh Verity, there’s no easy answer, is there?  But whatever you choose to do, in the end you want to feel confident that you weighed it all out and can live with the consequences. So maybe think of what would be worse?”

“I already know what it feels like to be on the receiving end of his bitter tongue,” Verity sputtered. “But…”

“Go on…” Demelza gently coaxed her.

“But I don’t know how it would feel to know he’s gone forever and I never got the chance to tell him that, despite whatever he thinks of me, I love him.” Now Verity gasped to contain a sob.

“And doin’ that--sayin’ goodbye or tryin’ to tell him how you feel--would that risk be worth the pain if it doesn’t go well?”

“I think...I think so.”

“Then maybe you made up your mind?”

“But it’s moot if Elizabeth forbids me from coming!” Verity cried in frustration. She’d apparently been caught in that circle of thoughts before and was back at a familiar roadblock.

“Were her feelin's really that strong?” Demelza asked. “I don’t know her well--or at all to be honest--but can’t see her bein’ so…”

“Decisive? No, you’re right. She politely hemmed and hawed but never came out and overtly stated I could not come. And I suppose I could always contact Father directly if I wanted just to speak to him.”

“And do you?”

“I do.” Verity’s voice still sounded wobbly but less so than a moment ago. “I do,” she repeated this time with greater conviction. “Perhaps I’ll start with a card--or a note?”

“That seems like a good idea. You can sorta test the waters that way.”  

“Ross has been giving me daily updates on Father’s status so if all goes well I’ll know when he’s ready to go home. Perhaps I can time it for then.” Verity seemed relieved. 

Demelza felt the weight of another long sigh through the phone.

“Oh my dear, thank you so very much!”

“I didn't do anythin’ at all!” Demelza puffed. “But I hate to see you so upset, Verity. And don’t be hard on yourself in all this. Please, if there’s anythin’, anythin’ at all that I can do--or Ross should do--you must tell us.”

“I promise I will,” Verity said and rang off.

---

“Verity wants to do what?!” Ross snapped. He’d been pulling off his shirt, getting undressed for bed, but stopped halfway, arms above his head when Demelza relayed the gist of the conversation she’d had earlier.

Demelza was surprised he’d reacted so sharply then considered it might just have more to do with his mood than the nature of the news itself. 

At ten o’clock at night, Ross was still agitated and fully awake after a long day of traipsing across Cornwall, whereas she’d been in bed, Garrick curled up at her feet, for almost an hour already. It hadn’t occurred to her to wait for a better time. She’d been so eager to tell him of Verity’s plans, in no small way proud of her role in it all. 

“Well she shouldn’t,” Ross muttered and slipped off his trousers without looking at her. Absent-mindedly he folded his clothes several times before abandoning them on a nearby chair.

The swell of his thighs, the dark hair that curled down his legs was enough to rouse Demelza from her sleepy state. She sat upright and followed him with her eyes as he headed towards the bathroom door.

“But why shouldn’t she, Ross?” she asked. “It’s her heart she has to answer to.”

“Because she’s setting herself up! It can never be resolved the way she is hoping--I know my uncle and so does she,” he said.

“Maybe she knows him better--or at least differently, Ross," Demelza called to him. She waited until she no longer heard the tap running then continued. “She’s his daughter and they’ve...well, a different history than you do.”

“Yes, they do.“ Ross might have agreed with the words but not really with her overall point. He switched off the light and slipped in next to her, exhaling a long sigh of fatigue, frustration, and now apprehension.

Demelza heard this and with a soft voice, tried to reach him in the dark.

“And Verity has more at stake in the end, Ross,” she said gently. “Look, I’m not doubtin’ your judgement, but I think we need to trust hers.”

“So what did you tell her?” he asked.

“Me?” She couldn’t quite read his tone but met it with an unintended defensiveness all the same.

“Demelza, I’m sorry,” he began but it didn’t quite sound like an apology. “I shouldn’t have spoken so crossly. You’re right--this doesn’t have anything to do with you,” he said, and rubbed her arm as vacantly as if she were a pet, then plopped on his back and closed his eyes.

No, nothing to do with me. I couldn’t possibly offer any sound advice could I? She was surprised at how bitter the thought felt.  

“Yes, Ross,” she said simply. 

All at once a greyness seeped in around them. No evening breezes fluttered the curtains, the waning moon offered little light to the still room. His weight in the bed was heavy beside her and she felt herself being pulled under.

“Goodnight,” Demelza whispered into her pillow. 

“Goodnigh--Damn it!” he grumbled then sat up ever so slightly.

“What is it, Ross?” she asked without turning towards him. She didn’t think she’d done anything to further upset him but was too tired, too deflated to backtrack through her words and actions again looking for clues. 

“Nothing. Just something I had meant to pick up this evening before I came home but forgot entirely until now.” The disappointment in his voice was unmistakable.

“Will it keep for another day?” she asked softly.

“Yes, it will keep.”

“Then go to sleep,” she said, perhaps more to herself. She tried to steady her own breathing, separate from his.

“Demelza…” 

This time she heard the warmth return to his voice and when she rolled over, his arms were open, reaching for her.

Instantly she clambered across the space between them and settled against his chest, listening for his heartbeat. He clutched her to him with all the strength in his hands and his arms.

And in that moment she was not a woman who’d been neglected nor left alone, but one who was loved and very much needed.

Notes:

In this chapter too, so much phrasing/staging inspired by the Poldark scripts and the glorious actors who delivered the goods. I’m grateful to them and to Winston Graham who gave us these characters.

Chapter 49: Generous Hearts

“One would think you’re still hungry, Ross.”

“I can’t help it--you have a beautiful neck,” he murmured and moved closer to Demelza in the bed so that he might plant any number of soft kisses along her bare skin. Slowly he dragged his nose down to her shoulder, his lips following close behind.

She giggled, tickled by his grazing teeth, his stubbly cheek. But instead of pushing him away, she wove her fingers through his tousled curls, and pressed his dark head to her.

“I like this,” she sighed. “You, close to me, and so relaxed.”

“Relaxed? That’s all your doing. You’ve a particular knack for releasing my tension,” he said playfully.

“So I do,” she laughed.

“But I like this too.” Even he heard the tenderness in his voice, a low purring whisper he’d never used with anyone but her. He snuggled against her, his ear on her heart. “And just because Prudie is returning soon, doesn’t mean this has to end.”

“Oh?” She sounded surprised.

“This is my house and we shall lie around together in it wherever and whenever it suits us,” he said casually.

“Lie together or...lie together?” she asked with a coy smile.

“Yes well, maybe some activities we shall have to move behind closed doors, but my point is we needn’t impose so many constraints on ourselves here at Nampara. You can sleep in my bed all night, every night, as long as you want to.”

“I’d like that,” she said.

They stayed that way for a few moments, clinging to each other and sharing breath, until the silence was broken by the rattle of a window pane and what sounded like a light thumping on the roof.

“Ross, listen...is it rainin’?”

“No, that’s just the wind.”

“I don’t like the wind.”

“I know you don’t, my love,” he said gently. “There isn’t supposed to be any rain this week at all. It’s been an exceptionally warm and dry July.”

“Should we be worried about drought?” she asked.

“No, not yet. And our irrigation system is solid.” He smiled. There it was again--we. Yes, his worries were hers too, but he’d already come to accept that.

“Demelza, I wanted to tell you something. Mrs. Carter is going up to Dartmoor on Thursday to see Jim. She’s asked if I might come along.”

“Yes!” Demelza sat up. “Oh, Ross, you should! And is Jinny goin’? Oh, I should ring her…”

“Stay put--she’s probably asleep. Most sane people are.” He reached for her arm and pulled her back down level with him.

“Yes, I see that it’s late,” she conceded.

“You seem eager to be rid of me,” he said.

At this she looked into his eyes as if she already knew what she’d find there.

“Ross? Is there a question about your goin’ with Mrs.Carter? Are you...not wantin’ to?”

He was impressed that she’s been able to read the hesitation that he hadn’t even voiced to himself yet.

“I haven’t seen Jim since the trial, and I’m worried he might still blame…” he began.

“Blame you? I know that’s not what you were goin’ to say!” She shifted on her side and stared him down with a raised brow. “Ross, you did everythin’ you could to help and it isn’t your fault the justice system failed him and his family. Mrs. Carter still thinks you hung the moon and Jim isn’t goin’ to think otherwise. Believe me, he listens to what his mother thinks.”

“Really?”

“I mean she didn’t tell him to go stealin’ pipes, or even to start seein’ Jinny for that matter…” she said.

“But she approved of you, I take it?”

“Oh Ross, that was so long ago.” She brushed away his question but he could see by the expression she tried to hide that the answer was yes.

Of course Jim’s mother would have been pleased that he’d taken up with a girl as pretty and as clever as Demelza. Ross wondered if word--gossip--had gotten to Mrs. Carter about Demelza’s newest boyfriend. He doubted the woman would approve of that relationship.

“The Carters are good folks,” Demelza added. “And whatever we can do to help them, we should,” she said. Stranger or neighbour, friend or kin, regardless of the connection, Demelza’s first instinct was always generosity.

Ross was forever impressed by that.

“I know,” he said.

He wondered if now was the time to share with Demelza the thinly spun strands of suspicion that clung to the back of his conscious mind. Spider webs that would not be cleared away. The intimation that, maybe through some action of his father’s years ago, Ross was bound to the Carter family more deeply than he’d previously thought. And if so, that would change the very nature of his responsibilities towards them.

Perhaps Prudie was the one he should approach first. She might not be privy to the absolute truth but she’d known Joshua well. And if the question was put to her, Ross might be able to tell even from her initial reaction whether there was anything there--or if he was merely conjuring fables for his own morbid entertainment, just like everyone else in the county seemed to do.

“You’ll give Jim my best?” Demelza asked. Apparently in her mind it was already settled Ross would be going to Dartmoor. “And make it a point of tellin’ him how much we miss him in the hopyard, especially at this point of the season.”

“This point of the season there isn’t that much to do in the hopyard...oh, I see,” he laughed and kissed the top of her head. “While I hate to leave you alone again, at least by Thursday you’ll have Prudie to keep you company in my absence.”

“Shh, you tease too much,” Demelza said.

“Do you want me to go to sleep?” he asked.

“Yes, and at once. You said it yourself, Ross, this time of night, sane folks are asleep.”
---

“Anyone about then?” Prudie called into the empty Nampara hallway.

Upon hearing Prudie’s voice, Demelza bound out of the bathroom wearing nothing but Ross’s bathrobe.

“Oh Prudie! You‘re back! I didn't hear you drive up!”

“Well, well! I’ve only been gone a week and look at you--layin’ abed all morn like she’s the Queen of Sheeba!” Prudie gave a pronounced tsk, hands on her hips.

Demelza took the steps two at a time and met her at the door. Without being asked, she easily lifted both of Prudie's bulging suitcases and carried them further into the house.

“And I haven’t been sleepin’--it's half nine and I’ve already been out in the barns, and just came in to take a shower…” She wasn’t really explaining herself to Prudie, although it certainly sounded like it.

Prudie burst into a great laugh and pulled Demelza into a hug.

“Oh hush girl! I was only teasin’--I know you’ve probably been up since dawn, you restless little mite. But tell me, these are your hols, did you have any fun this past week?”

“Yes, well, erm not really…” Demelza sputtered. “You see, Ross’s Uncle Charles is in hospital…”

“Yes, I heard ‘bout Charles Poldark, his heart, isn’t it? Saw that comin’--steak every night for dinner and a young wife like that!” she puffed.

“How did you know…” Demelza asked, trying to shake the image from her mind. She didn’t like the mention of Elizabeth--she never really did but especially not in such an overtly sexual context.

“Stopped at the Esso in Chapel Road comin’ home. Char Nanfan told me,” Prudie explained. “But it should been you--why didn’t you phone me? I woulda come home straightaway…”

“Why? There wasn’t anythin’ you could do,” Demelza replied a little more defiantly than she’d meant. “No, it was your chance to have some fun, Prudie.”

“I coulda helped you, girl!”

“Oh...well thank you for the sentiment,” Demelza said, softening. “And I’m glad you’re back.”

Demelza meant it. Even though it signaled an end to the freedom she and Ross had to physically explore Nampara together, and to just be alone, she had missed Prudie being around. She had no problem admitting that the woman had played an important role in her life for years and that her presence--even when passive and idle--gave Demelza a sort of comfort.

But Ross was right. Any constraints on their relationship within the Nampara grounds had been imposed by themselves. Not by Prudie, nor any other hired hand. Demelza and Ross would have to find a way forward, to be open and comfortable wherever, but especially in the house. Demelza felt confident all would unfold as it should, even if she wasn’t quite sure how.

“That Captain Ross’s dressin’ gown?” Prudie asked, looking Demelza up and down. Her foot tapped but only twice and very slowly.

“Erm yes,” Demelza said. “But he never wears it…”

“No, he don’t, does he? It looks good on you,” Prudie said, her lips twisted into a sly smile.

--

Notes:

“Do you want me to go to sleep?”...is a quote from Ross Poldark, A Novel of Cornwall, only in the original text it is Ross who wants Demelza to go to sleep (this is when Verity is visiting for the first time…).

Also readers of the Poldark novels will recognize Char Nanfan, one of Winston Graham’s locals. I do love that name so much. One of my favorite scenes of the colorful Sawle folk is Jud’s funeral in Jeremy. It is really quite comedic and always worth a re-read!

Chapter 50: Yellow Card

Demelza was almost out the door, one foot crammed in a boot, a piece of toast between her teeth, when the phone rang. The usually dormant landline was getting a lot of action lately.

She waited, not really moving but listening, half tempted to continue out to her chores. Prudie was closer and would certainly pick it up.

“Prudie?” Demelza called, reluctantly removing the toast from her mouth. “Fucking hell,” she said with an eye roll no one would see. “I’m comin’, I’m comin’,” she cried, and hobbled towards the phone with only the one boot successfully on.

“Excuse me...” The voice on the other end of the line was thin and hesitant. “Is this Demelza?”

“Good mornin’, yes, that’s me!” That someone was phoning for her wasn’t as alarming as it might have been--whomever was on the other end seemed anxious about having made the call so Demelza at once assumed the duty of making them feel at ease. 

“Mr. Poldark, erm, Mr. Ross Poldark said I should ring you if I needed assistance. I tried him first but he's not picking up.”

“Yes, Ross is on his way to...well, he’s out of town at the moment,” Demelza said. No use giving a stranger too much information about Ross and their imprisoned friends. 

“He also said I could try Miss Prudie if you were unavailable. I’m Morwenna, Agatha Poldark’s caregiver.”

“Oh, is Aunt Agatha unwell?” Demelza caught her blunder at once and took another bite of toast as if keeping her mouth full might prevent her from saying something else regrettable. Agatha Poldark wasn't her aunt and she’d never even met the woman. But Demelza was so used to viewing the woman through Ross’s lens, she’d never thought of her as anything else.

“No, no, not that.” Morwenna laughed nervously. “It's young Geoffrey Charles...I mean, his nanny, Ellen. She’s apparently hurt her ankle. She’s been told to rest so she can’t come in and I’ve my hands full with the both of them, what with Mrs. Poldark not at home. She’s with her husband this morning,” Morwenna added quickly, in case Demelza might think Elizabeth was galavanting with her lady friends whilst the family was falling apart.

“Of course we can help,” Demelza said reassuringly--and without thinking things through. “Would it be easiest to bring him around here? Spend a day with our farm animals? He adored the chickens last time…” 

Really, it had been the only time the youngest Poldark had ever visited Nampara, at least as far as Demelza knew. One afternoon back in April, Verity had stopped by and she’d had Geoffrey Charles with her for some reason. Demelza didn’t quite recall the nature of the visit--it had been before Verity’s break with her father and while Demelza was still deep in exam revision--and before Ross had become her lover. It now seemed like a lifetime ago.

But during that brief visit, Demelza had offered to take Geoffrey Charles around to show him the animals. He’d been both terrified and fascinated with the chickens, especially by their powerful wings that took them no higher than just a few feet off the ground but all the same could propel their feathered bodies forward with enough power to properly scare a small child. And he was right to be wary of those sharp beaks pecking at his shoelaces.

In truth, chickens were not Demelza’s favourite animals, and so as part of the unspoken order they’d settled into over the years, she’d convinced Prudie to take on most of the Nampara chicken care. They no longer had a great flock, just a little brood of six. Whether any of those would be replaced once their circles of life were completed, remained to be seen.

“I can't really leave Agatha alone. I don't suppose you could collect him?” Morwenna asked.

“Of course. Let me…” Demelza quickly ran through her urgent tasks in her head. Which ones could she do with a young child in tow that he might think were fun not work, and which should she just plow through first on her own? 

Luckily the goats had already been attended to. They could be unruly and overwhelming. The cow’s stall needed mucking--unpleasant for even the deeply initiated. The garden wanted attention. Surely a child could be trusted with that--although perhaps not. She’d also promised to check on the men in the hopyard. But could Geoffrey Charles walk that far on his little legs without getting bored or tired? They could both ride out on Adele, but maybe not without a proper helmet for the boy. She never wore one but she imagined his mother would insist.

It would probably make the most sense for Prudie to collect him while Demelza worked, but perhaps he would be frightened of the woman since she was a stranger. Then again, so was Demelza, really.

“I can be there in an hour...is that too late?”

“No perfect, and such a help. Thank you, Miss!”

--

In the end it was decided Demelza would stay at the Poldark home at Trenwith Road to mind the boy. When faced with packing up his belongings and installing his car seat in Prudie’s Mondeo, or having to keep a watchful eye on him around cliffs or farm equipment around Nampara, it seemed a wiser choice that he simply stay put.

“Besides, his toys are all here,” Morwenna had suggested. “It will be easier to keep him entertained then.” 

As Morwenna spoke, Demelza looked around the hallway at the Trenwith Poldarks' home, but didn’t see a single toy anywhere. 

Without meaning to, she winced. Everything in the place was so white--not sparkling just sterile in a way that had nothing inviting about it. It was dead, barren of feelings. Somehow it didn't seem right for a child to grow up in such an environment. She doubted the boy was even allowed in the parlours downstairs but sequestered to some upstairs rooms where his mess could be contained. Hopefully his nursery at least had some colour.

Demelza had never really thought much about children before, other than the neighbours she’d occasionally minded back in Illogan, but she knew many girls her age did. 

There were the baby-crazy ones, who couldn't wait to have one of their own. Something to dress up and cuddle, expenses and mucky nappies be damned. Come to think of it, Jinny had been one of those such girls. 

Then there were other mates, like Aislin and Gemma, who spoke of children but in the future--well planned extensions of their own perfection. Of course they assumed such a child would be the product of a happy union with a hot, rich man. Then came a trendy name, top baby gear, and later, the best schools—all as part of a well-curated aesthetic. Those girls were also unrealistic in their understanding of what children were really like. What if your dreamchild ends up being flawed, as all humans were? Then what? And while making plans was good, life and all its messy realities could come crashing down at any moment.

Demelza felt she didn’t quite fit into either category—the Jinnys of the world, who had never known they had any say in their own destiny, and the Aislins, who had been denied so little that they never questioned their lives wouldn’t fall into place just because they wanted it so.

Check yourself, she thought and pulled back from judging either camp too harshly. She supposed she had plans too.  

Plans that seemed to be moving full steam ahead. And with strong exam results, it might actually be possible that these plans come to fruition. When she was younger--around when she’d first one to Nampara--to say she wanted to be a veterinarian was akin to saying she wanted to be an astronaut or a supermodel, equally out of her reach.

Yet somehow, with Ross and Prudie as guard rails, she’d managed to move steadily forward. Neither of them had pushed her exactly or even really instructed her, they just gave her space and encouragement. They were the first people to ever express faith in her abilities, and while surely a few kind teachers followed, Demelza herself was responsible for the rest. 

But she still remained cautious--guarded even. To share your dreams, to announce them from the rooftops can be exhilarating, but if they fail--if you fail--shame’s shadow is hard to shake.

 

“Please, right this way. Geoffrey Charles is in the garden. Since we are passing through it is alright to keep your shoes on, otherwise we take them off indoors. I can find you some slippers if you’d like, Miss Demelza,” Morwenna instructed uncomfortably. She already looked exhausted even though it was only mid morning.

“Oh, please, you can just call me…”

“No, it's the Poldarks’ explicit instructions. They want Master Geoffrey Charles to remember his manners always.”

And perhaps also his status in society and certainly his rank above the servants? Demelza thought cynically.

Demelza followed through a sliding door off a breakfast room onto a wide veranda. Big sun umbrellas coordinated with the cushions on the outdoor furniture, but for all the size and splendour of the space, a faint sense of neglect crept in at the seams. More than a few blades of grass grew up between the patio blocks and while the grey-green moss on the siding might have added charm to a country cottage, on this house it only suggested impending decay.

“Master Geoffrey Charles,” Morwenna called, “Stop that at once.” 

The boy had gathered up small sticks and was now throwing them at an old woman who dozed in one of the large oiled-teak chairs. It was nearly 30 degrees but she wore all black—long sleeves, long pants—and seemed to have a woolen shawl upon her shoulders, almost wrapped around her head.

This, Demelza presumed, was Aunt Agatha Poldark. Crumpled and asleep, she did not exactly cut a formidable image, but from what Ross had told her, it was Agatha’s wit and her tongue that she wielded as weapons. Demelza knew to be careful today.

“I’m merely trying to wake her so she’ll talk to me!” the boy explained.

Demelza at once felt a mix of disgust and pity for the child.

“This is Miss Demelza. She’ll be playing with you today,” Morwenna explained to the boy, then turned to Demelza. “Are you alright if I...I think I’d better get her into the house. Even with the umbrellas, the sun is too much for Miss Agatha,” she fretted.

“Of course,” Demelza began to say as the boy moved closer to examine her fully.

“You’ve got trainers so we can play football. But they’re not very good ones, are they?”

“No, they’re not, but that doesn't mean I’m no good at football. I’ve loads of brothers and make an excellent keeper,” she said with a friendly firmness. 

It was mostly true. Luke had just liked to lob the ball at Demelza as hard as possible and Sam was only interested in playing “correctly” and would get frustrated that no one stayed in position. Drake always reveled in the rarity of the family doing something together and frequently stopped mid stride to remind them how much fun they were having--until they weren’t. But she’d always been fast and was a quick thinker, so that seemed to give her an edge among the other Carnes.

“Miss Wenna and Mummy say girls can be just as strong as boys but I don’t believe it,” Geoffrey Charles went on. 

“Oh?” Demelza asked and contained her laugh.

“My papa doesn’t think so. And he knows everything.”

“Yes, I’m sure he does. Well, let’s find your ball and get goin’, then.”

----

As long as Geoffrey Charles was allowed to ignore the rules of the game, he stayed content to play with Demelza. He was quick to declare she was “off sides” whenever it suited him and he frequently used his hands to launch the ball into imaginary goal posts that he was constantly moving. And he did not take kindly to her attempts to referee. 

“That’s not fair! Your goal doesn’t count,” he shouted more than once. But he was still quite young and that sort of resilience--and social skill--comes later, Demelza supposed. She wondered if the boy had much opportunity to play with other children at all.

They continued their game for the remainder of the morning until Morwenna called for lunch. But just before they were to come in, Geoffrey Charles grabbed the ball and ran full speed out of the back garden and around the side of the house.

“Geoffrey Charles!” Demelza called, but knew to keep her tone playful and inviting. If he was trying to irk her, she wouldn’t let him win.

He means me to chase him, Demelza thought. And if I do, just like Garrick, he will run further still. She considered staying put and ignoring him, but then recalled the road beyond the house. Would he be foolish enough to run out in front of a car? 

“Fucking hell,” she muttered under her breath but instead of following the boy the way he’d gone, she went around the other side of the house. She came up behind him in the front garden, and catching the boy off guard, succeeded in beating him at his own game. 

Geoffrey Charles squealed in utter delight when he saw her, and in his excitement, threw the ball into the air at one of the windows on the south side of the house. Whether it had been an intentional target or an accidental  one, was never determined.

Demelza wanted to respond with her own squeal and not one of delight. Instead she knew to keep calm.

“Uh oh,” she said and bravely stepped closer to assess the damage. The pane was fine but a shutter now hung slightly askew. She supposed it could have been much, much worse.

“You aren’t going to tell, are you, Miss?” Geoffrey Charles asked her, wide eyed.

Demelza almost laughed aloud. She doubted there was much this child could do, short of burning down the house, that he would actually be punished for.

“Well then, shouldn’t we try to fix it?” she said. “It looks as though this screw came loose from the fastener--oh, I see the sidin’ is a little rotted here so we’d need to drill a new hole where it is sturdier. Still, shouldn’t take long. Do you know where your papa keeps his drill?”

“No…” the boy said, apparently trying to process all the ways in which Demelza had just amazed him. She wasn’t cross, she was taking matters into her own hands--and she was speaking of power tools.

“Hmm…” she went on. “Perhaps I can look around after lunch…”

“But see?” the boy said. “The other shutter is funny too.” Indeed a shutter on the next window over, also hung at an imprecise angle. “How do we know for sure we broke this one?”

We. She saw how this was going to play out.

“Uh oh, yellow card for lyin’, Geoffrey Charles!” she laughed. “Listen, you didn’t do it on purpose, so that matters, and it looks as though this entire side of the house needs a little care. See that gutter? It is clogged with leaves or moss or somethin’, so that’s why the wood is rotted here--all the water just runs right down…” she began to explain, and as she stepped closer, her foot went into a muddy puddle that had pooled next to the house.

“Well, that’s no good,” she said. It had been so dry lately, where could this water even be coming from?

“Look!” Geoffrey Charles pointed to a leaking garden tap further down the house wall.

“Good eye, my friend!” She moved closer to examine. “It is shut off all the way so if it’s leakin’, it probably needs a new O ring, is all.”

“Can you fix it with your drill?” Geoffrey Charles asked.

“No, I’m afraid not. But we can make a full report to your mum when she returns. I’m sure she’ll be pleased that you spotted it and that you’re helpin’ to take care of things.”

At this the boy beamed.

“Come, I’m starvin’...” she said.

“Your trainers are muddy. It looks like dog poo!”

“So it does...”

“I want a dog but Mummy doesn’t like poo. Do you have a dog?” Geoffrey Charles asked as they headed towards the back garden.

“I do...shall I tell you all about him?”

--

“Morwenna?” a familiar but unwelcome voice called out. 

Demelza was in the breakfast room, reading to a very worn-out Geoffrey Charles, as Morwenna had reported was his afternoon routine. The boy, on his part, was largely ignoring her and playing a handheld video game. Demelza set down the insipid book about dinosaurs in space and rose to her feet, but decided to wait before she made another move. She strained her ear to listen.

“Oh, Mrs. Poldark, you're home!” Morwenna replied with notable relief. Another Poldark in the house meant another target to share Agatha’s well-aimed invectives. “Mister Poldark...he is...?”

“Charles is quite comfortable and the doctors are pleased with his progress.”

“And your afternoon appointments were...satisfactory?” Morwenna asked tentatively. 

“Yes! Alfred is simply brilliant at massage! I feel restored and well-attended after such neglect. There’s much to be said of self-care, I must say,” Elizabeth sighed. “I didn’t see Ellen’s car in the drive, has she gone somewhere?”

“Yes, Mrs. Poldark, Ellen couldn’t come today so I…”

The rest of the conversation happened in hushed tones in the adjacent dining room so Demelza could only make out some of the exchange.

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Poldark... didn’t want to trouble you...wasn’t sure what to do.” Morwenna was explaining to Elizabeth why she’d called upon Demelza, ostensibly a stranger, for assistance. “And Mister Ross had said...”

“Ross?” Elizabeth said with heightened attention.

“I thought I could handle things but then after breakfast, Miss Agatha was…” 

“How kind of Ross. Yes, well I can see how it might be too much with Agatha’s moods. No, I’m not cross, just surprised. I’ll ring the agency to send someone for tomorrow,” Elizabeth said.

At this Demelza moved towards the door.

“Bye, Geoffrey Charles,” she said but the boy was too distracted by his game to even look up.

Shortly after she'd entered the hallway, Elizabeth appeared, Morwenna trailing behind her.

As was the custom in that household, Elizabeth had already slipped off her shoes to ensure the immaculate floors remained that way. And anxious to be leaving, Demelza was already putting her muddy trainers on again. But before Demelza looked up into Elizabeth’s eyes, she spotted the woman’s feet--freshly manicured toes that exactly matched  the silk blouse she wore that day.

Self-care. Demelza took a breath and tried not to roll her eyes. 

Her family and her house in such want of attention, yet Mrs. Charles Poldark apparently had her priorities in order. In an uncharacteristic fit of pique, Demelza decided against reporting the clogged gutter or the leaking tap.

“Demelza, it was so good of you to come to us today.” Elizabeth’s smile was borne from an urge to be polite rather than to be genuinely friendly. “I hope Ross could spare you from the farm?”

Always about Ross, Demelza thought. Then again, she’d only agreed to help for Ross’s sake. She despised that revelation.

“Yes, well Prudie’s back from her holiday so Nampara wasn’t left completely without staff today.” Demelza forced a light laugh. “Really, It was no trouble at all,” she added for Morwenna’s sake.

“I can pay you for the day,” Elizabeth said.

“No, I didn’t do this for pay,” Demelza said simply but she knew by the look in the woman’s eyes and the way she anxiously twisted one pretty foot, that the words had hit her mark. A moral debt is far more difficult to discharge than a financial one. “I’ll just ring Prudie now to come get me.”

“I’m heading off to the pharmacy to pick up Miss Agatha’s medication while she’s napping--can I drop you somewhere?” Morwenna offered.

“Yes, please. Thank you, Morwenna--the bus stop will be fine,” Demelza said and flashed Elizabeth her own take on a polite but insincere smile.

Chapter 51: What We Seek

Demelza stepped off the nearly empty bus into the very empty road. The walk to Nampara was just a little over a mile and the weather was nice enough; it had cooled off significantly as the day wore on. She could ring Prudie to come meet her but she’d rather not bother. It might feel good to be alone.

There was no rush to be anywhere. Ross had already texted her--he wouldn’t be home for another hour. 

She almost didn’t hear her mobile buzz in her pocket and was tempted to ignore it when she did, but then thought better of it. If it were Prudie, and Demelza didn’t answer, she’d surely catch it later. The woman would most likely assume Demelza had been drugged and of course sold into an international prostitution ring; Prudie’s imagination of the dangers awaiting a young girl had only grown more vivid over the years.

But it wasn’t Prudie trying to reach her. Surprised, Demelza picked up the call, despite her earlier resolve to enjoy her time alone.

“Oh hello, Paul. Is everythin’ alright?” she asked at once. It seemed unusual for Paul Daniel to ring her--he usually just sent her vague and passively flirtatious texts, although there had been fewer this summer. Perhaps he was afraid of making Ross angry.

“I’m brilliant. But listen, a bunch of us are down at the beach and I thought...” he paused.

Oh great, here comes an awkward invitation. Demelza tried not to sigh into her mobile and ran through all the canned responses she had at the ready.

“I’m late to tend to the chickens…” she started.

“Well, that’s too bad. Jinny is here and to be honest, Dee, she looks miserable. I thought if you came along, you might cheer her up a bit.” 

“Jinny?” she asked. “She’s there?”

The beach was technically closer to the bus stop than to Nampara but in the opposite direction, so Demelza had to double back just a bit. She’d picked up her pace without meaning to, and she reached the wooden steps down to the sandy beach off the cove in just a matter of minutes.

She paused, squinting into the early evening brilliance. Demelza knew it was the salty air that made sunsets at the beach appear so sumptuous, and she hoped she’d always live along the shore to see them. Not just some shore--this shore. 

It would be hours before the sun sank out of sight completely but now was settling into a molten mass of gold, basking in its own richness. The surrounding sky was mostly still blue but layered in places with a shade of pink that reminded Demelza of the flesh of a grapefruit. 

She laughed, realising how thirsty she was, and hoped she could find something to drink that wasn’t shite lager.

In the distance, the usual local crowd seemed to be gathering. They were laughing, talking, but not too loudly. A bonfire was being built but hadn’t yet been lit. Most likely they’d need to get drunk before that happened. Demelza always found that a dangerous order of operations.

Jinny Martin was sitting on a log, further down the shore. That she’d removed herself from the fray seemed to suggest she wanted to be alone, but her slumped shoulders told a different story. Demelza wasted no time and without asking for an invitation joined her on her perch.

“Demelza! I didn’t expect you to come,” Jinny said, looking up with an earnest smile. “Paul has some beer if you want that. He also has some water,” she said quickly holding up her own bottle of Nestle lest Demelza get the wrong impression. No, Jinny was not here for the party.

“I’m alright for now,” Demelza lied and emptied the sand from her still-muddy trainers. She was terribly parched but didn’t feel up to speaking to Paul, not even for a bottle of water. “It’s a lovely evenin’, isn’t it?” 

In the back of her mind she wondered where the log they were sitting on had come from. It was most of a tree really, once great and towering, then felled and tumbled in the sea for some time, before it was dumped on the shore to be dried out in the warm salty air. It could have been from anywhere.

“For whatsoever from one place doth fall, Is with the tide unto another brought...” The words came to her but she couldn’t recall when in school she'd learned them.

“I’m surprised to see you here,” Demelza said and gave Jinny a welcoming hug. Jinny responded by lingering in the embrace then laying her head on Demelza’s shoulder.

“I thought I didn’t want to be alone but now...I dunno.” Jinny squeezed her eyes shut for a moment then finding her strength, she sat up again.

“You didn’t want to go? To visit Jim?” Demelza asked gently.

“I did but not today. I wanted to give his mum space to fall apart with him or maybe he can fall apart with her?” Jinny said and flashed a peculiar expression, half laughter, half agony. 

Demelza saw through it at once and gave Jinny another soft pat on the arm that signaled she could let down her guard. 

“Jim and I, well we have different things to talk about, and I don’t want to do that in front of others. I mean, as a visitor it’s always in front of others but I’ll have other chances to see him. It’s his mum’s turn. She’s born the brunt of so much of this.”

Demelza was surprised at Jinny’s restraint, her generosity, and her insight. Perhaps she’d had no choice but grow up and grow wise fast since she’d soon have someone else to be responsible for.

“Does Jim write?” Demelza asked.

“Yes, he tries but...well, you know Jim. Jim’s a good man--some don’t think it. But you always did--you were kind to him,” Jinny said.

“Me? I wouldn’t say I was really ever that nice to him…” Demelza laughed.

“No, Demelza, you never teased him or cut him down like his mates or some of the other folks around here always do. You might have given him a hard time but it was you wantin’ him to be better. You had expectations of him--like he was worth it. It made me notice him, actually.”

“Really?” she laughed lightly at the thought that she’d made Jim into anything new--or that it was her fault that he’d left her.

“I tried to do that with him too--encourage him,” Jinny continued. “But it didn’t quite work--did it?”

“You can’t say that!” Demelza said firmly. “It’s not too late...and he’ll encourage you too, in turn. Just watch!” She hoped those weren’t just empty words; she almost believed it herself.

“They say that’s what real love is supposed to do. Make you a better person.” Jinny said.

“If you both challenge each other...Yes, I mean, what do I know?” Demelza added quickly.

“Erm...I think you know a lot!” Jinny looked at her with a sudden teasing grin. “You don't have to hide it--about you and Mister Ross. I know and I think it’s really great. But you also don't have to talk about it if it’s a secret.”

“Well, not exactly a secret.” Demelza tried to sound breezy. “Just tryin’ to avoid complications...” Wasn’t that the word Ross always used? “Do others know?” she asked.

“Not really. Some might think it's true, but most--the folks that matter anyway--they just figure it's none of their concern. They respect Ross and aren’t goin’ to question his business. But I can see...he’s good to you.”

For a moment Demelza said nothing. She’d prefer not to talk about her love life but it seemed to distract Jinny from her own woes. 

Inside she felt herself squirming with pride that Ross--her Ross--was so well regarded and that she was lucky to have captured his attention. She was also intrigued that others might view their relationship as a natural progression, just a fact of life. 

And no surprise. 

Who had seen it coming? Shop clerks? Jinny? Paul Daniel? Anyone watching Ross and Demelza’s friendship grow over the years, would have seen the clues, the growing regard they had for one another. That he leaned closer when he talked to her, that she always smiled her brightest smile when he was around. It was obvious to others well before it was to them. 

But neither Ross nor Demelza had ever seen the striking silhouette their bodies made together, as they walked home together from the fields in the evening sun, heads bent in conversation, at perfect ease with one another. If they had, they might have known what came next.

“Ross is good to everyone,” Demelza laughed with a slight eye roll.

“Yes, but with you, he’s a special sort of gentle--like he’s listenin’...”

“Oh, yes. Most of the time anyway,” Demelza smiled.

“It must be nice to have someone backin’ you up,” Jinny said.

“You’re right. Ross is kind to me and we do support each other.” Demelza thought it was important to acknowledge aloud what she had. To dismiss it as insignificant would be hurtful to Jinny, and anyone who was aching with loneliness and loss.

“It must also be nice to...you know...” Jinny laughed and nodded knowingly. “I mean, Mister Ross is a very good lookin’ man and…”

“Yeah well, I do get weak in the knees and my hands still tingle when he even looks at me. And certainly when I look at him.” Demelza felt herself blushing. She’d never talked to anyone else before about how Ross made her feel physically. She felt awkward and giddy at the same time. “But I imagine I might feel still that way if he was old and warty and fat…”

“I hope you get that with him,” Jinny said. 

“Warty and fat?” Demelza laughed.

“I mean I hope you stay happy--I hope you get a long time with Mister Ross. I know you have plans--we all know you’re goin’ someplace, Demelza.”

“Well I don't know ‘bout that…” She broke a stick in half, unsure of how to respond. What if she ended up going nowhere and let everyone in the neighbourhood down?

“Stop, you do know it. But I’m sayin’ that I hope you can have Mister Ross too. And don’t let others make you choose.”

“Thank you, Jinny. So tell me, how are you doin’?”

“You mean how do I like livin’ at home, no job, no prospects, sharin’ a room with my 12 year old sister while my belly gets bigger everyday?”

“Oh Jinny…”

“But considerin’...I’m doin’ surprisingly well. My parents didn’t toss me out, like some folks might have. They’ve been really supportive and Jim’s mum too. She’s invited me--us--to move in with them. I don’t know if I will, though, There might be more space at the Carters but there's somethin’ nice about having my own mum about.”

A choice of two mums. Demelza had no idea what that would feel like.

“The sea is calm tonight. But it’s always that way in this cove, isn’t it?” Demelza hadn’t meant to change the subject. 

“To look at it now, you'd never know it could ever be the same angry sea that wrecks boats or batters the shore. But it's like so much of the world, isn't it?”

“That the same thing can be good and bad at once?” Demelza asked, trying to puzzle out Jinny’s point.

“No, I mean you have to imagine these terrible things that exist--dangers you can't see or touch day to day, but they are there. You have to know it, to believe it, but you must take care always.”

“But you can’t live your life in fear, can you?” Demelza said. “Always assumin there’s a danger around every corner. Sometimes you have to just move on…”

“How the fuck do you balance it, Demelza? How?” Jinny asked. Behind her the evening sun dazzled the water green, black, and silver.

“As best, you can.”

Except for the gentle wind rustling in their ears and the distant cries of gulls, it had been remarkably quiet around the two as they sat on the log. But a sudden swell of laughter began to move towards them--the others were on their feet, the bonfire about to be lit. Music and more drink would surely follow.

Jinny looked to Demelza with a troubled expression but said nothing. She didn’t need to.

Demelza stood up with an exaggerated groan and brushed the sand from her bottom, then extended her hand to Jinny,

“Come on, I’ll walk you home,” she said.

Demelza held her shoes in one hand, the other she folded in Jinny’s bent arm, and like a pair of old women walking to church, they climbed the path together.

In their shared silence, the last line of the old poem came to her.

“For there is nothing lost, that may be found, if sought.”

 

Notes:

“For there is nothing lost, that may be found, if sought.”― Edmund Spenser, The Faerie Queene.

But we also know similar words from the lovely song (“When Tide Rushes In”) that Demelza sings in series 2 Poldark. I know I’ve used this before in other stories, but it’s too pretty not to take out and admire every now and then. And for extra fun, here is a link to the glorious Alan Rickman as Colonel Brandon, reading these lines in the 1995 Sense & Sensibility.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wqZw6r5xlwk

The exchange between Jinny & Demelza over the prospect of an old and warty and fat Ross is borrowed (and lovingly played with) from The Stranger From the Sea.

(“Demelza wondered if there would come a time when, obese, warty, and dulled by age, she would fail to react to the sight of her husband standing in the doorway when her hands would not tingle and her stomach would not turn over.”)

Chapter 52: Belonging

“There you are,” Ross said softly. He was sitting alone at the kitchen table, an empty glass and an unread newspaper in front of him.

“Yes, sorry I should have told someone,” Demelza said and kicked off her trainers. The cool flags felt heavenly on her sore feet. She'd walked miles that day and felt each one. “I was at Hendrawna Beach with some of the...well, with Jinny…”

“How is she?” Ross asked, and rose to meet her at the back door. 

They met in the middle of a sunbeam filtering through the window, that illuminated them both--her soft hair, his skin glistening with sweat--in a muted puddle of light.

“It’s no easy time but she’s pushin’ through. And Jim?”

“Jim? He’s…” Ross’s pause was noted by them both. What could be said? It just wasn’t good news, no matter how one spun it. “Jim’s in for a long journey. But let’s not talk about it now.” 

Ross gripped her elbows, then kissed her and gave her a hug that seemed to be just what they both needed more than anything. After a day of taking care of others, it was time to turn their attention elsewhere. They lingered, enjoying the comfort of the other’s breathing. 

“Mmm,” she said into his chest, taking in his smell, his warmth. Instinctively she slipped her hand under his shirt to feel his back.

“Prudie told me you’d been with the Trenwith Poldarks today. That was a kind act,” he finally said and bent to look into her face.

“So I’ve been told, but I’d rather not talk about that,” she said and reluctantly removed her hand from his skin. She shuffled further into the room as if to leave the topic behind her. “Don’t fret--they are all fine--just ask me tomorrow. It was a long and tedious day and I’m weary to the bone--is that a thing? Well, it’s more my muscles than my bones. Did you eat, Ross?” She tried to be cheerful to balance out the uncharacteristic complaint.

“Always your first question,” he laughed. “I did, at the Carters--did you?”

“It was my second question,” she smiled, “And no, I’m not really hungry. Ross? What are you doin?” she asked. 

He’d opened the fridge and was pulling out some sliced cheese and ham.

“Making you a sandwich. You’d never let me skip a meal so I shall return the favour,” he said without looking up from his task.

“The fussy favour,” she pretended to sigh but appreciated the care. After the hug, it was exactly what she needed at the moment. “Did you only just get home now?”

“Yes, about twenty minutes ago.” 

She looked at the empty glass and figured that squared with his recollection of time. She also spotted the bunch of dahlias gracing the center of the table. They were dark pink, almost purple, and tied up with baker's twine and set in an earthenware mug.

“Ross? Those are gorgeous--and aren't from Nampara. Where did they come from…?” 

He laughed. It was as though she was asking how they magically appeared there in the kitchen, since Ross couldn’t possibly have had a hand in it. And she’d be right to think that. He’d never brought her flowers before and still technically hadn’t tonight. He was just the messenger.

“Those are from Jim’s mother. From her garden. For you.” 

“Oh they are really lovely but why me?” Now she laughed. 

“She still admires you it seems,” Ross smiled. 

“You be sure to thank Demelza for lending you to us today,” Jim’s mother had said before Ross drove off. Of course as a hard working woman herself, Mrs. Carter would understand just who the chores would fall to in Ross’s absence. 

And while Ross wished he had been the one to think of flowers, it mattered little now. He liked to see Demelza happy at anyone’s hands. And he’d find other chances to indulge her.

“Well I’ll thank you since you’re here,” Demelza said and kissed his cheek.

“I am here but I thought I'd missed you this evening,” he said softly.

“Missed me?” 

“That you might have gone up to your room to bed,” he explained.

“No, it’s rather early and besides, I’m stayin’ with you tonight. You have to move into the barn next week when the visitors come so…” 

“Visitors?!” he sputtered. “That’s not next week, is it? Already?”

“Yes, it will be August next week, Ross. So until the time when you’ll be forced to bunk with me, I’m bunkin’ with you.”

“Good, I like that,” he said and turned back to the tomato he was slicing. “Mrs. Carter tells me Paul Daniel is set to start on some Warleggan building crew next week. Did you see him tonight--did he say anything about that?”

“No, but I didn't talk to anyone but Jinny, and George Warleggan certainly didn’t come up in our conversation. I don’t reckon Paul knows much about buildin’, though, does he?”

“I suspect not. Must be a very low level job.”

“Probably more tearin’ down than buildin’ up. That looks good, by the way. Do we happen to have any…” she started to ask.

"Pickle? Yes, we do,” he said.

“But no mustar...”

“It’s Dijon,” he offered.

Somewhere Demelza had developed a taste for fine mustard. That always amused Ross but he never teased her about it--he was usually on the receiving end of her tasty sauces and dressings involving said mustard, so he had no bounds to complain.

“And yes, it’s the one that’s actually from France and not the knock off ‘French style’ that Prudie bought at Tesco,” he reassured her.

“Okay, then.” She moved closer to Ross and bit her lip. “I suppose it would be somethin’ new for Paul. And even though it’s Warleggan, some good might come of it…” 

“Well he shouldn’t expect any job security from George,” Ross grumbled then shook his head. There was no room for George Warleggan in the Nampara kitchen tonight. “Perhaps you are right--you always are.”

That last bit of affectionate praise seemed to wash right over her, unheard. Instead she picked at her fingernails for a moment. “Ross? Do you ever feel...sometimes…”

“Tell me,” he encouraged and put the knife down to let her know she had his full attention. He sensed this was no longer about sandwiches or Paul Daniel.

“Sometimes I do wonder where I belong…” she began.

“You belong here,” he said firmly and pulled her into his arms again and held her close. “You belong here.”  

“Oh I know that! I do,” she said at once with a light laugh. 

“Unless, of course, you want your space…” He was trying to read where she was going.

“No, Ross. I want to be with you--we’ve been through that already. I’m talkin’ ‘bout the wider world. I mean, do you ever feel like you are of a place--like it’s in your blood and you never want to leave it--but then also feel outside?”

“Where is this place you speak of?” he asked, bending just a little to look her in the eye again.

“With you, Ross is a special sort of gentle--like he’s listenin’...” Jinny’s earlier words came back to Demelza. She smiled and put her hand to his stubbly cheek.

“Not Nampara, not here. I mean Cornwall.”

“I feel that way every day, Demelza,” he laughed. 

“You do?”

“Yes, my whole life. But I don’t feel that way with you.”

“Huh. Maybe that’s why we get on so well, Ross. We both think differently than others. Or maybe everyone does but not everyone admits it?” she said.

“You are getting philosophical in your old age.” He kissed her forehead and steered her towards a seat at the table. When he put the plate down in front of her, she reached up and covered his hand in hers.

“Thank you, Ross.”

“For the sandwich?” he squinted playfully and gave a toss of his curly head.

“No, for havin’ my back!” she laughed.

“And you mine,” he replied. “But I assure you--yours is the prettier back so I believe I get the better part of that bargain.”

“Whatever you need to tell yourself, Poldark!” She flashed him her brightest grin, one of belonging, that she reserved just for the happiness and ease she felt around him.

Notes:

I played with a lot of lines from Debbie Horsfield’s scripts in this chapter and had fun with some role reversals.

Ross anticipating Demelza’s needs is a play on her waiting on him in S1.3 (only this time the good stuff from France is mustard not brandy).

“Getting philosophical…” is from S1.7.

Demelza not wanting to talk and declaring she is “weary to the bone” is from S2.3.

And of course “I belong here,” the iconic line from Demelza in S1.2 that really marks the start of their whole story together.

Chapter 53: Small Gifts

“That will be £10,” the woman at the till said. “You want that wrapped or naked?”

“What?!” Ross asked, his heart racing, blood pounding in his ears. These were unchartered waters, but he couldn’t really back out now.

“Shall I leave it unwrapped or is it a gift, sir? We can wrap it up in some lovely paper…”

“Yes, paper...please,” Ross muttered and fumbled to find the notes in his wallet.

Ten quid for a single bar of handmade gardener's soap. 

“It’s organic,” the woman had assured him as though that would account for its cost. At that price it would need to be crafted by a remote convent of Trappist nuns, shipped by mule across declivitous mountain ranges, and include crushed lapis lazuli as an exfoliant instead of pumice powder.

It had been an impulse buy. 

Days and days had gone by and Ross still had not managed flowers for Demelza, despite his most heartfelt intentions, and now he was compelled to do something to breach the gap--in some way.

Today he’d stopped at the Goonhavern Garden Centre to pick up some replacement rolls of horticultural fleece and saw the soap display next to some brightly coloured watering cans. He’d immediately thought of Demelza.

Even though she wore work gloves most of the time, Demelza struggled to get her hands clean after working in the pens and hopyard. She’d scrub and scrub again, then complain how rough her skin had grown. Come to think of it, she’d never really complained, just mentioned it with her usual breezy laugh. 

Perhaps lemongrass and five essential oils would make a difference or at least make her happy.

It was quiet when Ross entered through the back door at Nampara. The kitchen was empty but voices--a soft laughter and a steady chatter--moved closer through the hallway. He quickly placed the small packet on the work surface next to the sink; tied with a blue ribbon, wrapped in delicate floral paper, it would surely be noticed. 

Then he slipped into the library and tried to imagine Demelza’s face when she discovered it. It would be ten pounds well spent.

He had no regrets.

--

Ross’s second gift was less stealthily delivered.

“These are for you,” Ross said and handed over a stack of three old paperback books.  

“What?” Demelza asked wide eyed. She’d been stretched out lazily--and beautifully--across the sofa but upon his presentation, she sat up at once. “All Creatures Great and Small?”

“We had the one in our library here, then I saw these two...in the charity shop in St. Pirans Road. I believe there are more in the series altogether...I didn't know if you've ever read them,” he said. He wasn’t sure how he was expecting her to react, and suddenly found himself a bit anxious.

“This is the story about the country vet, right? Oh Ross! They’re…” she stammered.

“They're classics,” he explained but perhaps was trying to convince himself that it hadn’t been a foolish purchase. He suddenly felt very aware of how oddly situated Demelza was age-wise. Was he over-estimating her ability to appreciate some battered used books--might he have been better off getting her something she’d want, like a new case for her mobile? But she was old enough to have a lover and run a farm and wasn’t an ordinary shallow teenager. Then again, he’d last seen her reading a book on clinical anatomy and physiology, so maybe she was too grown, too sophisticated for these sentimental stories. 

“They’re lovely. It’s just so sweet,” she whispered and with gentle fingers opened the cover of one as if it were a delicate treasure.

“I read the first one when I was a young,” he said but then recalled he didn’t have much memory of the story at all. At the time he resented the Nampara farm animals as something his father had imposed on them all. And as a boy who’d never yet left Cornwall, a tale set in Yorkshire might as well have been about another continent.

“That long ago, huh? These must be ancient then,” Demelza smiled, trying to contain a smirk. It had been awhile since she’d teased him about his age. He was glad she did though--it put him at ease in a way he needed.

“Now what I really need to give you is some time to read,” he said. 

“Oh Ross, don’t worry, please? Prudie is back and I’m sure everythin’ will slip back into place soon with your family,” she said.  

He could hear the hope in her voice. At times he still felt he had so little--hers would need to be enough for both of them.

--- 

“Are you enjoying it?” Ross asked when came upon her reading the Herriot novel he’d given her the day before.

“Shh… you said, you’d give me quiet time to read,” she teased.

“You listen far too carefully to what I say.”

“I do. Are you really goin’ to interrupt my adventures in idyllic country life?” she smiled.

“A bygone era...” he muttered and sat down beside her.

“I wouldn’t say that, Ross. Some things remain the same. The things that matter,” she said softly.

“Like mucking cow stalls?”

“Yes, that’s not changin’ anytime soon lest we get rid of the cow.”

“We can do that--say the word.”

“No! But maybe…” she began and put down her book.

“What?“ he encouraged her. This wasn’t about the cow.

“Maybe, Ross, what you’re doin’ here, growin’ somethin’ new and makin’ a go at it, well, it redefines what country life can look like,” she mused.

“Redefines? Well then…” he laughed.

“Don’t tease, Ross,” she said. She was being quite serious. “I mean it--look at the kids around here. What do they have to look forward to? I mean some are just fine and some have purpose takin’ on their family land, but they’re few. And the others? Paul? Jinny? Jim, when he gets out?”

“When Jim gets out of prison I am going to do everything I can to get him back on his feet,” Ross interjected firmly.

“Of course you will,” she said and rubbed his arm. “But he’s just one. And so it's up to us, to create some new way of livin’ or understandin’ what it even means to live here. To thrive here. For all of them.”

Us? To show the kids? He tried not to laugh. That wouldn’t be fair--not when she was right and had articulated something he’d felt--he’d known for a long time--but never put into words.  

Ross himself had been one of these aimless kids--not sure if he should ditch it all and move to a city or just a bigger town, but staying at Nampara was not going to be part of the equation. Instead he’d ended up joining the army. Who ever had convinced him that was a good idea? It wasn't his father. Joshua had been indifferent to the whole thing or at least he never shared his support nor his displeasure aloud to Ross.

Would he be pleased to see me here now? Ross wondered. It had been no small feat to salvage the place, and now he was turning a modest profit without having sold off any land. 

“I hope you are right, Demelza,” he said and pulled her close to kiss the top of her head. She responded by snuggling into him, her feet curled up under her. She sighed for a moment, then opened her book again.

“But I do think your look needs more tweed, Ross. And maybe a cap?” she said, looking him up and down and ending with a wink.”You, know to really show you’re the idyllic country gent.”

“I’ll endeavour to make it clearer,” he laughed.

Notes:

Readers who are on tumblr may recognize the soap scene from a ‘displays of affection prompt’ someone graciously sent me back in Feb. I think thrifty Demelza would approve of the recycling!

I understand the James Herriot books were published under different titles and editorial configurations in the UK. I decided to keep the titles I was familiar with in the US, so readers might more readily associate it with the “All Creatures Great and Small” TV series and know what I was talking about. And originally I had Ross find hardcover copies of the books--but after a little research found those are quite pricey!

“I’ll endeavour to make it clearer,” borrowed from S1.4. Still playful but Ross's first attempts at tenderness or at least a growing understanding of Demelza's emotional needs.

Chapter 54: One Pie At A Time

“Demelza!” Ross called from the yard for the third time, but she was in the middle of spooning the crumble topping on her plum pie and assumed he could wait another moment. She could tell from his voice that he was excited--but not injured--maybe he was even happy about something. 

“Comin’, Ross!” she called and wiped her hands on her apron. After she popped the ancient baking dish in the oven, she peeked out the kitchen window.

An unfamiliar car, a Skoda estate, had pulled in next to Prudie’s Mondeo. It looked to be silver but was so covered in mud that its colour was mostly obscured. The driver, who had just emerged, was now hugging Ross.

“Someone from Carnmore?” she wondered, and leaving her apron crumpled on the work surface, she skipped out the back door to investigate.

“Dr. Enys, allow me to introduce you to Demelza Carne, and Demelza, this is Dr. Dwight Enys,” Ross began what sounded like formal introductions. 

Demelza squinted in the bright afternoon sunshine at the sandy haired man reaching into the boot of the Skoda. He pulled out a brown canvas bag marked with a black cross that didn’t quite look like a real medical bag--more like something he’d gotten from Etsy.

“Oh? Hello,” she said and smiled, but on the inside her mind raced trying to recall anything Ross had mentioned previously about an upcoming visit from a doctor.

This stranger seemed roughly around Ross’s age, maybe a little older or perhaps even younger--it was hard to tell from his colouring. He had kind grey eyes and a build that was strong without being muscle-bound. In all, Demelza thought he was attractive, but not in a way that personally moved her. Still, she imagined he must be busy most Saturday nights. 

A jolt of mortification rushed through. Had those really been her first thoughts? When had she grown so shallow?

“Demelza, are you okay?” Ross asked, when he noticed how flushed and short of breath she’d grown. “Dwight, is an old friend of mine from the army--and a veterinarian,” he explained.

“Oh?!” she said and held out her hand, hoping it wasn’t too sticky.

“Ross has told me a great deal about you, Demelza. It’s nice to finally meet you.”

“He has? Have you come today…” she began. In her head she was running through all the animals--none of them looked amiss or were due for any routine check ups. But the horse! She hadn’t seen to her yet today. Ross had taken her out to the north fields early so she’d left her feeding and care to him. “Ross, is somethin’ wrong with Adele?” she gasped.

“No, I would have told you,” he laughed. “That’s not why Dr. Enys…”

“Mate, call me Dwight, please.”

“Dwight was in the neighbourhood so I asked him to stop round for a drink and a chat.”

“I’m still on a call so it will need to be lemonade or tea,” Dwight replied.

“In the neighbourhood?” Demelza asked, half out of politeness and half curiosity. She still couldn’t puzzle out why Ross had invited him here without mention to her first. She wasn’t on guard just felt something didn't quite add up.

“Yes, I was examining one of Constance Bodrugan’s hounds.”

“Let me guess, Queenie has mastitis again? Or is it Titus and his anal glands?” Demelza asked.

“Oh you’re good. It was Queenie I went to see but it seems a mild case, caught early on. You know these dogs?”

“Yes, I do,” she laughed and tried not to roll her eyes. For as long as she could remember, Demelza had loved animals, especially dogs, but after her brief stint cleaning the Bodrugan house, she felt she had to try a little harder to find warmth for that particular brood. She wasn’t proud of that--it wasn't the dogs' fault their owners were so horrid after all--and tried her best to put them out of her mind. “But tell me what would you prefer, Dr. Enys, tea or lemonade?”

“No, Demelza, you are not to wait on Dwight. He’s here to talk to you, ” Ross explained.

“Talk to me?” Now she was starting to be annoyed, a little defensive even. Was everyone in on this secret except her? 

“Ross told me you are interested in studying veterinary medicine and thought maybe I could give you some guidance on your path. Or at least answer questions you might have.”

“Oh that’s nice...of you.” Demelza tried to catch her breath. She appreciated the surprise--Ross had plenty of surprises about him lately--but she would have liked a little time to prepare herself, to prepare thoughtful questions. What if she came across as a right tit?

“I’ll tell Prudie to attend to you in the parlour…” Ross began.

“No!” she said firmly. “Dr. Enys, come in the kitchen we can sit at the table and talk while I put on a kettle.” 

She was determined to have the home court advantage.

----

“Something smells amazing,” Dwight smiled as he settled at the old Nampara table.

“Maybe another twenty minutes and it will be done,” Demelza replied. “Sorry to torture you.”

“It’s not a torture, but something to look forward to. Have you gotten much guidance at school, Demelza?” Dwight asked.

“On pies? Oh you mean about the future! Some. More so this year when they started taking me seriously,” she answered. 

Or maybe I made them take me seriously?  

“Anyway we’ve talked about what other A levels I’ll take next year. I mean I haven’t gotten my exam results yet from this year so maybe I’m jinxin’ myself…”

“No, you are planning ahead, Demelza, that’s good. And when it comes to writing your personal statement, I can give you pointers that a school counselor wouldn’t know to offer. Have they spoken to you about the online questionnaires some programs require as part of their application?”

“Oh?” Demelza tried not to sound overwhelmed.

“To test your level of knowledge about the profession and to check that you have the requisite insight and motivation to take on the degree. But I have a mate at University of Surrey--I'll see if he can share some sample questions and we can practice together.”

Now her head was swimming. Applications, questionnaires, Surrey. An hour ago she was perfectly content rolling out her pie crust, now she felt as though she’d just stepped off a cliff. And then there was this man’s kindness--he was offering to help her. What kind of debt must he owe to Ross? Then again, Dr. Enys seemed genuine, not reluctant or merely polite. 

We can practice together. 

She was grateful when the screaming kettle gave her an excuse to scuttle about the kitchen to hide her nervousness.

“Your solid farm experience will help you--Ross said you’ve been doing this for four years? That's impressive! But there’s one other piece you are missing,” Dwight said.

“Milk?” she gulped weakly.

“An internship. You’ll need at least one week working in a veterinary practice. That’s rather standard and the admissions tutors will want to know details of how you took direction and dug into all the aspects of the job.”

Demelza opened her mouth but found herself speechless. So much for demonstrating requisite insight and motivation. She wished the oven would catch fire so she’d have an excuse to run from the room.

“And that’s where I think I can help,” Dwight smiled. He had really lovely teeth and very smooth lips. “Of course...well, I hope you don’t find me presumptuous.”

“Presumpt...no! How? I mean, how might you be able to help me, Dr. Enys?” The voice that rattled in her head didn’t sound at all like her own--it was clipped and hesitant--and overly polite.

“The practice where I currently work, in St. Agnes, was set to host a student intern this August but she has just now backed out. Can you imagine that a course on Impressionism in Paris could be more enticing than giving flea baths and expressing anal glands?” Dwight winked.

Demelza laughed, disarmed by his unwavering friendliness and amused by his joke that only an initiate could truly appreciate.

“Anyway, if Ross can spare you, it’s three days a week--two half-days and one full--for the entire month of August.”

“You...you’re offerin’ me an...internship?” she sputtered. She sure hoped she hadn’t misheard--or misunderstood--that. “But you don’t know me!”

“I know more than you think,” Dwight laughed. “I know that since you’ve come to work for him, you’ve kept Ross’s herds in top shape--and to be honest he’d never even spoken of his farm stock at all until you came along. So that says something. Secondly, I admire any young student who balances real work and school work, and I know that it is difficult but it teaches some real lessons many adults don’t internalise until they are much older. And lastly, your neighbour spoke highly of your way with ‘all beasts’--her words not mine.”

“Neighbour? Not Constance Bodrugan?” she laughed.

“That surprises you? Anyway, you’d be doing us a great favour by accepting.”

“A favour? Of course I’ll accept!” she chirped and found herself standing on one foot in her excitement. “That is, if Ross can spare me…” she added cautiously.

“He most certainly can,” Ross said, entering into the room. 

Just how much of the whole exchange Ross had heard and how much he had pre planned with Dwight, Demelza didn’t know. But she was grateful for his interference on her behalf. She had no false sense of pride nor feeling that she should have landed this opportunity on her own--that wasn’t the way the world worked and if everyone else milked their connections to get ahead, then she ought to as well, especially considering how rather limited her connections were.

“Are you joinin' us now for conversation, Ross, or for pie?” Demelza asked, and glided joyfully over to the oven to check on her creation. The crumble topping had browned perfectly and the rich gooey fruit was bubbling at the edges. She placed it on a rack to cool but doubted Ross nor Dwight would have the patience to wait very much longer.

“Since when have I had to choose?” Ross responded playfully. He wasn’t pawing at Demelza but he also wasn’t hiding his ease and affection for her. It made Demelza wonder exactly what Dwight knew about the nature of their relationship.

“Dr. Enys, you and Ross know each from the army, you say?” Demelza began. “Did you have your veterinary degree before you entered the army or did you complete it whilst…”

“Don’t even think about it, Demelza,” Ross said. 

“But I was just…” Demelza gulped.

“I’m with Ross on this one. The armed forces may try to lure you with promises of ‘Travel and Adventurous Training’...”

“And don’t forget 'Sport!'” Ross laughed.

“Right, Sport!" He shook his head in disgust. “But knowing what I know now, I wouldn’t encourage my worst enemy to join.”

“Have you many of those, Dwight? Enemies?” Ross teased.

“Am I supposed to say something about jealous husbands or jilted ladies? Because if so, I’m afraid I’ll have to disappoint you, mate. The only enemies I’ve acquired in recent years is a surly little pug that I’ve put on a diet and my neighbour with whom I seem to be in a permanent battle over a parking spot.”

Demelza laughed and took a deep breath. In one afternoon, her whole world had changed, had opened up in an unexpected way. How long had Ross been scheming with Dr. Enys, she didn’t know. But she resolved to make the most of this opportunity born of Ross’s confidence in her--it was one of the greatest treasures he could offer and she’d need to show him her gratitude every single day, starting now. Perhaps the only way she knew how.

One pie at a time.

Chapter 55: People Skills

“Ha, ha! Well, would you look at that?” Prudie chuckled looking at her mobile but not exactly offering it up to Ross so that he could see whatever had her so entertained.

Ross said nothing and instead tucked into his lunch without any gusto. It was last night’s dinner warmed up in the microwave. How could something that had tasted so good when presented by Demelza grow so bland and unappealing when Prudie offered it up?  

Today it was just him and Prudie at the table. The uncomfortable silence throughout the house was not lost on Ross, and reminded him of the way things had been at Nampara four years earlier.

“Well? What is it?” he mumbled against his better judgement. 

 “It’s the girl--she’s just sent me a selfie at work!” Now she shoved her mobile in Ross’s face.

Demelza gave the camera an open mouthed grin--raised incredulous brows--and was wearing blue scrubs, exactly the uniform attire one would expect to find in a clinic of any sort, whether treating humans or beasts.

“Looks good on her, dontcha think?” Prudie beamed with pride. “So professional!”

Ross didn't mention they were the same scrubs hospital porters wore, or for that matter anyone else who frequently came in daily contact with filth and shit. Instead he nodded until Prudie finally pulled her mobile away.

Work. The word irked him. 

Demelza had a job, and one she’d done since she was 13. Her position at the veterinary surgery was an internship, and a wonderful opportunity he did not deny--hell, he’d been the one to arrange it--but it was an unpaid one. He shook his head, trying to dislodge any other sour thoughts before they took root.

It was probably best to hurry through the meal, a necessity but not a pleasure, and get back to work outdoors. It was supposed to storm later that week and Ross suspected their dry and gloriously sunny summer would finally be coming to an end.

“Just in time for the visitors,” he said glumly then realised he’d spoken aloud. 

“What?” Prudie asked. “Oh that. Don’t look at me. I’m only one woman. Doin’ as much as I can, short handed as I am without the girl. Whatcha expect of me? When Jim left you hired someone to take his place but now that Demelza isn’t here I get no support whatsoever…”

Ross rose from the table and somehow managed to block out Prudie’s rant. Prudie had been left “unsupported” in Demelza’s absence for a total of three hours now and was already playing it for sympathy. And he hadn't actually criticised her--not a word about her lack of progress preparing the house for the visitors they were expecting later that week--yet she’d taken offense nonetheless. Demelza would be back at Nampara all day tomorrow; he hated that the work would all fall on her.

Ross slammed the library door behind him. What had him so disturbed--the imminent invasion of their private world by guests again or was it that he missed having Demelza around, just knowing she was there, even if they’d both be off doing separate tasks?

And why had she sent that selfie to Prudie and not to him?

---

 

“Don't tell me you’re done already? And still smiling?” Meggy laughed when she saw Demelza carrying out the bulging bin bags. 

Demelza still wasn’t exactly sure what Meggy’s official job was. Veterinary nurse? VCA? Office manager? The woman seemed to do everything and to know everything.

“Oh, well maybe you can make sure I’ve done a proper job, by your standards, I mean,” Demelza said when she’d returned from the big bins round the back. 

She wasn’t really stammering. She felt confident in her work thus far but just wanted to make sure she hadn’t come across as presumptuous. Demelza liked Meggy Dawes, and had decided that almost immediately after walking through the door of the veterinary clinic. There was something cheerful but genuine in her attitude--she’d no time for nonsense but also none for sourness either. It was an outlook Demelza felt she could relate to.

“It looks proper to me,” Meggy reassured her. “And you don’t seem bothered by the task. Careful--you’ll be on kennel clearing duty permanently if we think you enjoy it.”

“Well, a little poodle poo don’t seem like much.” Demelza now dared to laugh. “I'm used to muckin’ stalls--several times a day or more.”

“You farm kids!” Emma Tregirls said from behind the reception desk.

“Farm kids?” Demelza asked, trying not to appear overly defensive. She understood as new girl she’d have to take some ribbing but she hadn’t expected it would be her address that made her the subject of ridicule. She’d been living at Nampara for two years now and was proud of that. If they’d been having a laugh because of her Illogan roots, well, that she’d have understood.

“No matter what we throw at you, you’ll always have a tale of somethin’ you’ve seen that's far worse,” Emma replied.

“I’m here to learn and I don’t think I know it all...” Demelza said quickly, then realised she sounded like a blathering fool. But she wanted them to know she was eager to soak up every drop of knowledge she could, from any source--and would always, always play by the office rules and do as she was bid.

“Emma means your lot’s the best kind--nothing fazes you and you’re patient as hell,” Meggy laughed. “Good god, we could learn a bit from you.”

“Oh,” Demelza blushed. 

“Aye, come here and I’ll show you the schedulin’ software,” Emma smiled. “Are you any good with computers?”

Demelza didn’t mention the hopyard payroll she did regularly for Ross, nor did she mention that for years he'd called her a quick learner. Best not to mention him at all.

“So you should know,” Emma began, “the doctors each have their own schedules for bein’ in the field and bein’ in the surgery. Mondays and Fridays, Dr. Choake does the home visits and Tuesdays and Thursdays it’s Dr. Enys. We're closed on Wednesdays, and Saturdays, they take it in turns.”

“Okay,” Demelza followed along as Emma pulled up a screen that showed Dr. Enys’s in-clinic appointments for the previous day. “Oh, he’s sure busy, isn’t he?” she observed when she saw he’d been booked back-to-back, all day long.

Both Emma and Meggy let out merry cackles of laughter.

“Yes, he is,” Emma snorted then showed Demelza Dr. Choake’s appointments for that day. In comparison, he had plenty of empty slots. 

“Couldn’t you move some of Dr. Enys’s appointments to the next day so he wasn’t so...sorry, I’m sure you have reasons,” Demelza caught herself. Don’t say everythin’ out loud just ‘cause you're thinkin’ it, she thought. “Were they emergencies?” she asked.

“Everyone thinks their problem is an emergency,” Meggy chuckled.

“Some folks don’t care but others like to see the same doctor and not bounce between the two. Don’t worry too much for Dr. Choake--he’s got his regulars. Some have been patients of his for three decades! Well, not them but their pets or livestock, you know what I mean. The Bodrugans, for example…”

“I know them, they’re our neighbours,” Demelza said, then regretted that she’d said our neighbours. Probably no one noticed nor would they interpret it to mean she lived with Ross and not just at his farm, but she felt herself flush with embarrassment for the second time in just a few minutes.

“Oh good god, poor girl,” Meggy snorted.

Demelza smiled and nodded. Best not to speak ill of a client, even if Meggy was hinting she felt the same way.

“But what Meggy isn’t sayin’ outright is that many folks--mostly the ladies--specifically request Dr. Enys. And there isn’t any convincin’ them to the contrary!” Emma laughed.

“Oh why is that?” Demelza asked, then saw at once that the reasons were obvious. 

Dr. Choake was by all accounts, a horrid man--never listening to anyone but himself, self-righteous, judgmental, and as Demelza recalled from the first time she met him years ago when he came to assess their cow Ermi, he was always both belching and flatulent. And he’d pushed and prodded with no regard for the beast’s comfort. She wondered then how many times the man had been bitten by one of his patients. 

Whereas Dr. Enys was kind, attentive, gentle--as well as young and attractive. That probably mattered more than his bedside manner.

Just then the office phone rang.

“Your turn, Melzie,” Emma said.

“Me?’ Demelza gasped.

“You learn best by doing,” Meggy assured her. “Give it a go and we’ll walk you through.”

“Okay….Erm...Good mornin’? This is the St. Agnes Veterinary Clinic, how may I assist you?” Demelza stammered nervously into the phone then looked up at Meggy and Emma who were nodding their approval thus far. “You’d like to see Dr. Enys? Alright, may I have the patient’s--erm your pet’s name, please? Horace? Yes, I’ve found his record,” she said as Emma keyed the name into the system. 

“Ask her what’s wrong,” Meggy whispered.

“And what seems to be the problem. Ma’am?...Oh? Jellies?...How many did Horace consume? Thank you, yes, I can hear that you are quite concerned. I’m so very sorry for your worries and we’ll be happy to help you. May I put you on hold for...no, I promise, it will only be a moment…” Demelza put the caller on hold and looked up at Meggy and Emma who were snickering with laughter.

“That can’t be good for a dog, right?” Demelza asked with genuine concern. She then thought of all the rubbish Garrick ate on a daily basis while remaining healthy and hale. Then again, Garrick was no dainty breed, but a scrappy survivor--just like his mistress.

“Jellies aren’t toxic and this isn’t the first time Caroline Penvenen’s dog got into them. Dr. Enys warned her,” Meggy sighed.

“You recognise the name?”

“Miss Penvenen is what we call a ‘frequent flyer’...always lookin’ for a reason to see Dr. Enys,” Emma explained. “And the poor man hasn’t got a clue why!”

“Yes, he’s always lecturin’ her on the dog’s lack of exercise and ‘dietary indiscretions’ and that makes her so infuriated she vows never to come back. Then a week later, like clockwork, she rings and tries again. It’s a humorous thing to watch,” Meggy laughed. “But back to the poor little pug with a tummy ache…”

“I guarantee you never smelled anythin’ like pug farts,” Emma said. “And don’t even try to tell me about your goats because this little dog is really the worst!”

“Tell her you can fit her in with Choake today…” Meggy advised.

“Miss Penvenen? Are you still there? Yes, we can see you straightaway. Dr. Choake has an appointment….no, sorry Ma’am, Dr. Enys is in the field today. Not until Friday...hold again, please,” Demelza turned to Meggy for advice. “She wants to know if Dr. Enys can do a home visit,” she whispered. “I’m assumin’ no?” 

“Home visit? Of course she’d ask that,” Emma rolled her eyes.

“I’m terribly sorry, Miss Penvenen, but Dr. Enys’s schedule is quite full today. Why don’t I book you an appointment with Dr. Choake for this afternoon just to be safe. If Horace starts to feel better, then you can ring us back and cancel. What’s that? A poo sample? Erm, yes, bring one along. Brilliant. One o’clock it is then,” Demelza rang off and wiped her brow in relief.

“Bravo! You sure you never done this before?” Emma asked. “Meggy, bet you a fiver Caroline rings back in less than an hour to cancel.”

“Fiver says she doesn’t--but that she doesn’t show for the appointment either,” Meggy countered. “She did that the last time we suggested she see Dr. Choake. But Emma’s right, Demelza--you must know you have good people skills.”

“No one’s ever told me that before. But I think I prefer workin’ with animals to workin’ with people,” Demelza laughed. 

“What about the Nampara hopyard? You work there too, don’t you?” Meggy asked. “Do you prefer hops to people or do some folks make the cut?”

“What Meggy is really sayin’ is, tell us more about your boss, Ross Poldark. I mean the man is seriously hot!”

“Erm…” Demelza was once again blushing and tongue-tied. “I mean, Mr. Poldark is a very kind man….” she started.

“Yes...he looks like a kind man…” Emma said with a wicked grin.

----

 

There was no moonlight peeking in through the open window so the last glow of the evening was fading into black, but Ross could still make out all of the features of the woman breathing softly to his right.

Her side of the bed. She’d somehow claimed it and whenever she lay next to him--which was most nights now--that’s where she settled.

Tonight Ross hadn’t had to ask her to join him. It was just understood that she’d come to his room after supper. Days ago she’d told him that would be the plan, and she had a tendency to follow up on her word. She was loyal and dependable that way. 

Dependable but still...unpredictable, and at times even mysterious. He supposed it made sense that as he got to know her, more layers of her personality were revealed. And how many of these layers was she herself acquainted with--or was she trying to fathom them out as well?

Ross knew her mind traveled and to places he couldn’t follow. Even when she was younger, he’d read it on her face at times. Her eyes would remain bright but she suddenly wouldn’t say a word and her silent mouth would twitch ever so slightly. Perhaps now was one of those moments she was far away. 

Earlier that day, when Demelza had first gotten home, she was talking a mile a minute, recounting every experience at the veterinary clinic. Now she was so quiet, so still against him. 

He hoped he still caused her to feel some sort of exhilaration and excitement. Of course he knew he couldn’t be--and shouldn’t be--the center of her life. Still he fought against an instinct to be possessive. He’d only recently discovered what a balm she was for his own weary soul. He almost resented having to share her.

She’s never belonged to you, you fool. And she never will. To love her is to understand that. 

Ross softly stroked her head and without meaning to, let out a sigh.

“Ross? You okay? What is it?” Demelza asked as if sensing the battle he was waging with himself.

“Just thinking about work.” It was a reasonable lie. “I’m sorry. And you?”

“To be honest, I wasn't thinkin’ about anythin’ at all. I mean my mind was reelin’ after today--so much to take in--but now I’m just enjoyin’ bein’ next to you and listenin’ to the frogs. They’re awful loud tonight--do you suppose it means somethin’? Like rain?”

“I think it means they are looking for mates,” he laughed. “Shall I silence them for you?”

“No, I like it. They just seem louder on this side of the house. I don’t hear them from my room across the yard. Tell me about work then--is it Carnmore business or the hopyard that’s troublin’ you?”

“There’s no reason to allow either to intrude on our time together,” he said. “You have my full attention.”

“Don’t apologise, Ross. You have a right to think whatever you want, whenever you want, without bein’ accused of ignorin’ me. It’s not like I was sayin’ somethin’ or we were in the middle of things,” she laughed.

“Things?” he smiled, grateful for the opportunity to steer the conversation elsewhere. He didn’t want to talk anymore about thinking, especially when he hadn’t been proud of his thoughts in the first place. “And what things would those be, Miss Carne?”

“Miss Carne? Oh, you think you are bein’ especially naughty when you call me that, don't you?” she said and scooched away from him in the bed coyly. Then she stopped and spread out on her back, inviting him to come towards her. 

“Well it seemed to work,” he said and crawled up her body, planting kisses along the way until he reached her neck. She giggled and tried to sit up, playfully rolling him off of her.

“You know, Ross, we’ll have to vacate this room tomorrow...” Demelza said. She reached behind and undid her ponytail so her red hair spilled across her shoulders and down her back. When she ran her fingers through it, they got caught in a tangle of curls. “I’m like an overgrown ewe in need of a shearin’,” she snorted.

“I like your unruly hair, especially when it creeps onto my pillow,” he laughed and pulled her close, wrapping his arms around her again. “Why so soon?” he asked. “Can’t it wait until Friday morning? The guests don’t arrive until afternoon. We can have one more night together here.”

“Oh Ross, it would hardly do if the bed was still warm from our bodies? No, I’ll need time to get the room properly cleaned for the visitors.”

“Well don’t go to too much trouble,” he grumbled but his ire was with the upcoming visitors and not with the level of care she brought to readying the place. “Can’t you just change the sheets? It’s good enough for you and me then it’s…”

“Good enough for strangers? No, sadly they seem to have discernin’ eyes, while you and I have grown accustomed to the spiderwebs and dust bunnies.”

“Knowing you, you’ve probably made friends with the spiders and given names to the dust bunnies. To be honest,  I don’t notice much of anything else when I’m in this bed with you,” he said and flopped on his back, reluctantly letting her go. “But listen, after this last booking, no more Airbnb. I’m finding myself less and less able to tolerate these intrusions.”

“Oh? What’s changed?” she asked.

“Partially my finances…”

She said nothing but raised a questioning eyebrow. 

“Okay, well that’s not exactly true,” he admitted. “But it doesn’t seem worth the effort, especially since all the extra work falls on you, Demelza. And I’ve grown rather fond of our privacy…”

“Privacy?” she laughed. “Have you forgotten about the woman who lives downstairs and probably hears every moan or squeak of the bed?”

“Your moans are rather loud, aren’t they?” he teased, knowing it would both make her laugh and blush at the same time. “The squeaking bed I can’t do much about unless we endeavour to use it less.”

“Are you suggestin’ we move to the floor?” Now it was her turn to tease. “Well, it’s a shame…”

“Yes, the rug looks like it would chafe your backside or my knees,” he said.

“Why am I on my back? Can’t I be the one with chafed knees?” She bit her lip with a suggestive expression he’d come to love. 

He also loved her knees, which were less banged up than they used to be, but still bore small scratches and scrapes, the signs of an active outdoor life. And he loved the legs the knees were attached to. As she grew over the years, her legs had gotten quite long and shapely. Perhaps Ross had been the last person in the county to have noticed them--until the one night in May that changed everything for them, he’d never looked at her that way. But then that night, he ran his hands all along them, exploring every inch of her skin, as she straddled him in his truck. 

Yes, that was another thing he loved. Making love when she was on top. He loved to look up to her face, as she took as much of him as she wanted, as she moved her hips with him inside her, as she touched herself and found release.

“I mean it's a shame you’re closin’ the door to more visitors,” she said now, calling him back from the delightful wanderings of his mind. “Luca and Alessandro want to see Cornwall in autumn.”

“Why do you know this and I don’t?” He found this news amusing. 

“You need to pay closer attention to your post. They sent us a card thankin’ us for their anniversary visit and have emailed some preliminary dates for October,” she said matter of factly.

“You seem to have made quite the impression on them,” he laughed. 

“And you? Have I made any sort of impression on you, Ross?”

“You made an impression on me long ago, my love,” he said and kissed her. “A rather indelible one.”

Chapter 56: August Rain

Notes:

Chapter title comes from this quote from Sylvia Plath’s journal entry dated 8 August 1952: “August Rain: the best of the summer gone, and the new fall not yet born. The odd uneven time.” (From The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath).

A flash, a bit longer than a flicker, lit the entirety of the dark house. It was followed by a sharp crackling, like splitting timber, then a resonating boom!  

Thunder, drew out its chorus for as long as he had the stage before Lightning, the diva she was known to be, returned for an encore. A powerful and apparently electric storm, it sucked the air out of the room, but between flares all was eerily quiet. 

“Well that settles it,” Ross said drowsily, “You aren’t going anywhere.” His warm, heavy arm was draped across Demelza and at the sound of his voice--low but soft--she understood the invitation and moved her body closer to him in the bed until she felt his chest hairs on her back. 

“Oh?” she asked coyly. “It’s really only across the yard to my room. If I run fast enough I could dodge the raindrops…” 

He wrapped his other arm across her chest then pulled her closer still. This time it was her bare bottom that she pressed against him, knowing the response it would provoke. She giggled softly but often did so in their play--before things grew passionate.

“You may have all sorts of magic powers...” He dragged his lips across her shoulder while his lower body seemed to pulse against her on its own without his conscious mind to act as driver. “But even you, Demelza my dear, are no match for a thunderstorm.” 

As if on cue, another flash illuminated the bedroom, followed shortly by a monstrous rumble.

“It’s close now.” Ross said, listening but all that could be heard was the rain steady on the roof and windows. “Maybe that’s the worst of it.”

“I like the sound of summer rain, of mornin’ rain,” she said, grabbing Ross’s hands in hers and snuggling them to her heart. 

“Even a storm?”

"Especially a storm. As long as I’m inside."

She didn’t need to explain what she meant, not to him. They were both intimately familiar with all the sounds and seasons of the countryside. Summer rain was warmer than the cold, sharp rain that came in November, so even if it poured down heavily like this morning’s deluge, it was received differently by the earth, by the leaves, even by the roof tiles. This morning Demelza could hear the spongy plop! and boing! of the raindrops welcomed by the already wet moss. She imagined the thirsty hops drinking it in and the once dusty barn yard, turning to thick mud, almost creamy in texture.

And morning rain was different in that it hushed the usual sounds of the waking world. Birds sheltering in the wet eaves were quiet rather than loudly proclaiming their dominion. And the sky remained a soft blanket of grey, tempering the sun. For sleepy lovers who preferred the dark, morning rain meant they could pretend the dawn had not yet arrived and stay together just a little longer. 

“I think it’s supposed to last all day…” she said and for a moment worried about the nests under the eaves and the delicate silk threads in the webs newly spun. It seemed a shame that all that work would be destroyed, and just to be started again.

“Then I’ll drive you to work today,” Ross said. “You can’t be riding Jim’s bicycle in this..”

“Well…” she protested half-heartedly. 

An ancient but functional piece of equipment that lived in the machine shed, it was normally still referred to as “Jim’s bicycle” since he’d been the one who brought it to Nampara in the first place. But even when Jim was around, he’d rarely ever ridden it, and as was her habit, Demelza couldn’t bear to see anything to go to waste, so she grew determined to put it to use--perhaps as a tribute to the boy. In the months since Jim’s arrest, it had become her primary means of getting around, especially to the areas unserved by the bus route. It’s frame was just a bit too large for her but she’d lowered the saddle as far as it would go and had mostly learned to brake without slamming her crotch on the cross bar. The chain also had a habit of slipping off at inopportune times but she’d grown rather adept at slipping it back on with only minimal swearing. And with her usual optimism, she remarked how convenient it was that the bicycle’s brown colour hid all the rusty bits. 

Today she hated to admit that Ross was right--the bike’s bald tires would be no match for the wet roads. 

“Okay,” she laughed, “but I’ll ring Prudie to collect me later. I’m only at the surgery until 1PM and I know you’ll be busy all day.”

“Not in the hopyard  but I suppose I should take advantage of the bad weather and go see…”

“Your uncle?” she asked.

“I was going to say Tonkin but yes, I am overdue for a visit to Uncle Charles. Maybe on my way home from Carnmore. But listen, if Prudie won’t come get you…”

“Oh she likes it, Ross. Any opportunity to get out of the house and away from chores. You know how she is.”

“Yes, all too well...”

“Ross, Prudie does her part around here. She just sometimes needs a bit of guidance.”

“And now without her mistress around to give her that, she’s growing idle,” he teased. 

“Mistress? I don’t think she’d like that you’ve just elevated my status around here,” she replied.

“You did that yourself--years ago. Before you and I ever…but seriously, once you get your driving license, we should look to buy you a car. Then you won't be dependent on me or Prudie or your broken-down bicycle to get around.”

“Slow down, Ross,” she laughed. “I only just started this new job and it don’t pay--in case you forgot that detail--so I haven’t got any money for a car. And neither do you,” she said. “Besides, what do I need a car for? When the new term starts again I can take the bus to school like I’ve been doin’ my whole life.”

She rolled over and when she looked up at him, he saw her sweet smile, her happy eyes. She had a serenity to her this morning that he noted as if seeing it for the first time. He’d often thought of how far they’d traveled in the two months they’d been together, how much it had altered him and his very outlook, but he hadn’t really stopped to consider just how much farther that journey would have been for her than for him. He didn’t like that their starting blocks had been so uneven but that’s just how it was. 

Demelza herself would say, “Accept it, Ross. No matter how you want it to be otherwise, it’s a truth that can't be denied.” 

He wondered if the changes to his inner emotional landscape were as visible on his exterior as hers were to him today. He hoped so. It seemed wrong, immoral even, to hide such a thing.

“I love you,” he said abruptly. He’d said that before and had been sincere each time but this time he felt it anew. A fresh revelation that moved him and by extension moved her.

The smile on her lips matched his so it only made sense to kiss it.

“I love you, too, Ross,” she whispered as her soft lips melded with his.

Now he slid his arm under her, pulling her closer. His fingers gently traced the top of her shoulder, his other hand cradled her face as they kissed again.

“Mmm,” she said, unwilling to be the first to break the kiss. She put her hand to his cheek and continued to offer her passion, no longer sleepy but powerfully awake.

He liked mornings when he woke beside her, their heads level with one another, sometimes even on the same pillow. He rested better knowing she was close. Demelza always slept soundly, rarely stirring or even moving much at all. He envied that and wondered if it was her youth that led her to unencumbered sleep. It wasn’t that she didn’t have worries--he knew that--she was just better at pushing them out of mind.

But sometimes she did reach out in the night, and put a hand on him--his back, his arm, his head, whatever was closest. She’d be fully asleep yet she somehow sensed he needed soothing, reassurance. Just a touch was all it took. 

Ross tried to remember the last time anyone had ever been so attentive, so loving towards him? Not for a very long time. The thought jarred him. She’d been making things easier for him for years really. 

This was just one more gift. And the most precious of all.

 

---

 

“I’m off to do a home visit to your neighbourhood, Demelza,” Dr. Enys announced as he collected some papers from the printer at the reception desk and shoved them into his canvas bag. “Would you like to accompany me?”

“Of course!” Demelza cried. “I mean, that is if I can be spared here…” 

“Go on then. But trade your trainers for some Wellies--with all the rain today, the mud in the fields will be horrid. There’s extras by the back door. Take a rain coat too,” Meggy called, perhaps relieved she wouldn’t be the one going out in such a storm.

“Just so you know, Demelza, it always rains on the days when I’m to do home visits,” Dr. Enys laughed as they got into the van. “But I see the sky clearing to the west so maybe you will bring me better luck.”

“I don’t know about that,” Demelza said right before thunder crashed somewhere north of them. The forecast for the week had predicted heavy rain with strong winds, and thus far had proven correct. “But thank you, for takin’ me along, Dr. Enys. I’ll try not to get in the way.”

“Oh, you’ll very much need to be ‘in it’ today,” he replied. “I’m quite relying on your assistance. We are going to see a cow and that’s not something I can do solo. I believe you know the owner--Hugh Bodrugan?”

“Erm...yes, I know Mister Hugh,” she said, trying desperately to hide any hints of disgust in her voice. She hadn’t seen the man since she walked out of her cleaning job earlier that summer. She hoped this wouldn’t be too awkward a reunion or that he wouldn’t lash out when he saw her, embarrassing her in front of Dr. Enys. “Mister Hugh has a cow?” she thought to ask. “So all that land isn’t just for dogs and horses?”

“No, they raise champion breeds, in fact. Hereford and Brown Swiss mostly.”

“I thought Emma said the Bodrugans were Dr. Choake’s faithful clients? Oh sorry, that’s not any of my business…”

“You’re right, they are, so they must have been desperate to call me in today,” he laughed. “No, they occasionally allow me to see their animals, but only in urgent situations when Choake can’t--or won’t--come out. Usually it’s for the hounds but today it’s a dam and her calf.”

“Is she calfin’ now?” Demelza’s eyes grew wide. The idea of watching a cow give birth was both terrifying and fascinating. 

“No, yesterday--Choake was there at Werry House and said it was ‘textbook’--but apparently things aren’t going well. But he still doesn’t think it is anything to worry about and has assured the Bodrugans that I, his junior partner, could handle things.” He winked as if to let her in on a private joke about both Choake and the Bodrugans.

Demelza laughed, relieved to be in such easy company. She still found Dr. Enys a bit intimidating but it helped that he had a sense of humour. Of course it made sense that he would since he was Ross’s mate. He had pretty grey eyes that crinkled when he laughed, but also sometimes revealed what Demelza thought was a little sadness at times. She didn’t know much about his life or where he’d been before he settled on the north coast, and resolved to ask Ross when she got home that afternoon.

It was a further relief when Constance--not Hugh--met them at the barn. In the woman’s typical vacant manner she didn’t properly greet them, just expected they’d follow her through the rows of cattle stalls. Previously Demelza had thought maybe she’d had lost cognitive functioning in her advancing age but now she pondered if Mrs. Bodrugan just couldn’t be arsed with folks below her station.

Demelza was used to being ignored, especially by this woman, but thought it tremendously unfair that anyone would look down on Dr. Enys. He was so well-educated and trained and honoured in his field, more accomplished than any Bodrugan, and yet was merely another form of “the help” to them.

Things warmed a bit when they were greeted by a middle aged man who introduced himself as Ned and appeared to work in the barn. Demelza laughed to herself when she saw he was wearing a tweed cap, just like her ideal of a country gent.

“Glad you could come, Dr. Enys, sir,” Ned said. He’d been sitting on a bale of hay, looking worried but rose to his feet and smiled as they approached, then shook the doctor’s hand. He extended his hand again for Demelza and as she took it, she wondered what part of a cow might it have been last touching. 

“Yes, well then, I’m not staying,” Constance said but was already walking away without any pretense of social niceties.

At least she’s honest, Demelza thought.

“And what seems to be the problem?” Dwight removed his dripping raincoat and slipped on a pair of heavy rubber gloves, then handed a similar pair to Demelza. “Oh, I see…” He then moved closer to the calf in the corner of the stall. “Can he not get up?”

“Nay, not properly. He’s weak--you can see that--and keeps fallin’ on his side. He’s comin’ around but it’s been slow. Too slow for his dam--she’s ‘bout done with him.”

“Yes, the poor calf vigour is unmistakable. He won’t suckle?” Dwight asked.

“No, not from the dam, no matter how we lead him to it. No response when either the teat or even a finger is placed in his mouth. But we’ve been giving him colostrum replacer, well, tryin’ to but he’s not takin’ to hand feedin’ either, have to force it, really.”

“And you’ve been keeping him warm? You see, Demelza…” Dwight now turned to her to explain what he was thinking. “Hypothermia and now perhaps hypoglycemia can be contributing factors to the poor calf vigour we are observing.”

“Yes, yes we been warmin’ him, but I think we might need to do more. We don’t have a hot box..not a proper one, anyway,” Ned explained. “This blasted rain all week hasn’t helped? Put a chill back into the air--and we was worried about what the heat was doin’ to the herds!”

“Rising global temperatures are still something to be worried about long term,” Dwight said. “Heat stress has been definitively linked to lower yield in UK dairy cows.”

Demelza listened as he spoke, quite sure she’d just learned more from five minutes in this barn with Dr. Enys than all her years in the classroom combined.

“And the parturition?” He continued to question Ned but he was gentle and friendly in doing so. They clearly shared the same goal so there was no need to point fingers or pass blame. “My colleague Dr. Choake presided...he made no notes of dystocia…”

“It was slow but he was born with no noticeable problems, average birth weight,” Ned said and literally scratched his head.

“Demelza, have you got your mobile?” Dr. Enys asked. “No? Then take mine out of my bag, please. Good, now look up…”

“Dummy calf!” she muttered to herself.

“Yes, or sometimes referred to as weak calf syndrome. You’ve heard of it?”

“I’ve seen it!” she cried.

“You have?” Dr. Enys laughed and shook his head. “Where?”

“Do you know Mr. Trevaunance? He used to be Mr. Tonkin’s partner in Carnmore before Ross…” she began. 

“Old John?” Ned laughed. “He’s a fine gentleman, too bad about that bad business with his debts.”

You mean too bad George Warleggan forced him to sell his shares. Demelza pushed her bitter thoughts aside and continued her story, knowing her credibility here could be fleeting.

“Well, anyway, few years ago he had a calf just like this fellow. Ross and I were there on hopyard business, and we saw it. Kept rammin’ his little head into all manner of things lookin’ for somethin’ to suckle--the ground, the fence, the wall--but would not take the teat for anythin’. He would walk a few steps then fall over like he was pretendin’ to sleep. If it weren’t so sad it would have been almost funny to watch. Mr. Trevaunance called him Nelson, the sweet little thing. But oh, you should see him now!”

“He survived?” Ned asked. “How’d John get him to suckle?”

“You see Mr. Trevaunance had a bullock with a real special demeanor. He was called Music, and he took little Nelson under his wing. He’d nudge him along, away from the fence till he found the bottle he was bein’ offered, and sorta kept him on track. Nelson responded better to him than to the humans at first--he was like a mentor--but then he came to trust Mr. John too.”

“And his mother?” Dwight asked.

“Yes, that was sad. She lost interest in him when he wouldn’t suckle and she had to be kept away. They had to look after her teats and udder since they'd been untouched by the little calf…”

“Yes, cows not suckled have an increased incidence of uterine infection problems,” Dwight said and twisted his brow in thought.

“Oh Mrs. Bodrugan won’t like that. Minta is one of her favourites, even if she isn’t one of the Swiss Browns. She’s still a valuable cow.”

“Take him, then!” Constance Bodrugan’s voice seemed to come out of nowhere. She had returned to the barn from the west door and was now standing behind them, an unlit cigarette in her long bony hands, rain streaking her white face.

“Beg your pardon, Ma’am?” Ned stammered.

“One way or another, get him out of here and save the dam,” Constance hissed. “You know what to do, Ned.” She turned around again and left through some other exit, out into the dark storm whence she’d fittingly come. 

“Erm…” Ned gulped and looked up at Dr. Enys with pleading eyes while the rain hammered the barn roof overhead.

“Dr. Enys, would it be...appropriate...if I maybe rang Mr. Trevaunance?” Demelza asked.

“Yes, Demelza, by all means, please do,” he replied.

---

“Sorry ‘bout all the mud!” Demelza said as she settled into the passenger seat of Dr. Enys’s clinic van nearly two hours later.

“It comes with the job,” Dr. Enys laughed. His boots were also covered in mud and even though he and Demelza had been wearing rain gear, they’d both gotten soaked through. 

Still it had been worth it since their outing was largely a success. Their patient--the weak calf formerly belonging to the Bodrugans and yet unnamed--was settled in at the Trevaunance barn under gentle Music’s tutelage, just as Demelza had hoped. Ned, who’d driven the little fellow over in the Bodrugan trailer, was so happy to see him finally take the bottle that he’d cried with relief.

“Rain gettin’ in my eyes is all,” Ned had muttered before John Trevaunance clapped him on the shoulder and invited him inside the house for a whisky to celebrate.

“Did it seem to you like Mr. Trev…” Demelza began as Dr. Enys switched on the engine and waited for the wipers to clear the windscreen.

“Yes?” he encouraged her.

“Well, Mr. Trevaunance was pleased to be helpin’...perhaps not for the calf himself but to maybe...”

“Maybe to get one up on the Bodrugans?” Dwight smiled. “Yes, I do. Trevaunance has little patience for Hugh’s incessant bragging about their champion herd. I suspect John is loving an opportunity to lord his goodwill over his neighbour’s head.”

“Well it was damn nice of him to take on the little guy, I mean, in the state he was,” Demelza said. “Not many people would.”

“Maybe...but I suspect you would without hesitation if you were in Trevaunance’s shoes,” Dwight said.

“If it were my farm, of course! Even now I do my best to persuade Ross…” she mused then purposefully steered the conversation away from Ross for what felt like the hundredth time that day. “You know, I’ve never seen a hot box like that before.”

“The calf warmer? They are most useful immediately after birth but better late than never. Especially since today is so cold and wet,” Dwight explained. “Demelza, what was it that Mr. Trevaunance called you?”

“You mean ‘Nampara Girl’?” she laughed. “Oh I don't mind that. It’s...an old nickname. Somethin’ Tonkin came up with years ago when he and Trevaunance were still partners.” She was grateful that Trevaunance didn’t hold any ill will against Ross, and by extension her, after he’d been forced out of Carnmore. Of course he shouldn’t--Ross had bailed him out after all--but he might have resented the association nonetheless. 

“Demelza, would you like me to drive you home?” Dr. Enys asked. The Trevaunance farm was east of the surgery so Nampara wasn’t really on the way. It was an especially nice gesture since the rain hadn’t eased, and a favour well-earned after her contributions of the day. 

“Oh, no thank you. I left my rucksack and my mobile back at the clinic so I’ll just go back with you. But no worries--I’ll ring home and someone will collect me.”

“I’m impressed you left your mobile behind. A teenage girl who can bear to be separated from hers for more than ten minutes--quite a rarity.”

“Dr. Enys, you make us teenage girls sound like some unstudied species from a nature programme. We’re not all shallow and under the spell of media influencers, you know.” Some of us don’t have time, she thought. “Or perhaps you’ve just been meetin’ the wrong sorts of girls?” she replied. 

“Of course not, Demelza, forgive me…”

“And it’s not just girls but boys,” she laughed lightly to signal no offense was taken. “You know, if we were still at the Bodrugans I could have just walked home.” She sensed to change the subject--she hadn’t actually minded Dr. Enys’s teasing about her mobile and didn’t want to come across as difficult or easily wounded. Nor did she want to end their conversation. “You might not know it since you took the north road to their place, but our properties are actually touchin’. There’s a fence but a body can easily scale it. Unless you’re a goat--then you can slither through it.” She remembered the trouble they used to have with some of their little goats before they reinforced the wiring.

The day we took the horse and rode together to find Marzipan was one of the first times I ever told Ross my future dreams, and now I’ve just done a home visit with a real vet and made a difference in an animal’s fortune, she thought as she looked out the window at the misty countryside. 

The road ahead of her was long--she had years to go before she’d ever be as knowledgeable as Dr. Enys, and there were no guarantees she ever would be--but that she’d even made it this far, seemed a sort of dream in itself.

“Demelza, I want you to know I’m glad you’ve taken on this internship. Your work today was exemplary and I wanted you to see that we recognised the effort back at the surgery as well,” Dr. Enys said.

“Really?” She beamed then smiled sheepishly. “It’s only been a few days...but thank you. That means a lot to hear.”

“So is it veterinary science that you wish to study at university or will it be biology?” he asked. It was so clearly stated. As though she was obviously going to university, the only debate was what she’d study there.

“I’m not sure what exactly my plans are when I’m done with school next year,” she said and continued to look out the window, unable to face the question.

“But you surely did well on your exams and are taking the proper A levels--you must have some idea of where you’d like to go, Demelza? Don’t be shy. Surely you mentioned this all to the school counselor?”

She had. Everyone had to meet with the counselor but some of those conversations were rather pro forma. Demelza had never felt she was really listened to and as long as her results were satisfactory, Mrs. Graves saw nothing much to discuss with her. She imagined her saying “Next” like a passport agent as soon as Demelza sat down in front of her.

“I do want to be a vet,” she said. “Always have. But maybe…”

“That’s splendid,” he interrupted. “And my offer still stands to find a time to talk about what to do next. What courses, what exams, what university programs to apply to. Bristol has an exceptional accelerated course--that’s not too far from Cornwall. Have you considered an accelerated degree?”

“Accelerated? Um, no,” she laughed. She’d always imagined her schooling would be the exact opposite of accelerated and would take extra years if she’d have to stop from time to time and to work and save more money.

“Of course I wouldn’t want to go against any advice they give you in school or that from your family,” he added.

“Well, I’d be doin’ it on my own.”

“Your family doesn't support your plans?” he asked.

No, my real family does, just not Tom Carne, she wanted to say.

“I have some supports,” she stammered.

“Yes, Ross Poldark seems a great ally, of course,” he nodded. “And how long have you been living at Nampara?”

“Some time now--two years?” she said trying to sound casual when really she could count the precise number of days. The exact number of days she’d felt alive and happy. “Used to be just summers but now it's yearlong and works well for us.” She had originally meant it worked well for her and the goats, the pigs, and the hops, but then realised she of course also meant for her and Ross--and also for Prudie.

“And your parents don’t miss you?”

“It’s just my dad and no. He seems relieved that I’m no longer a burden to him,” she said. 

“I’m sure that’s not the case…” he said.

“Dr. Enys? Can I ask you somethin’?” She didn’t want the thought of Tom Carne to ruin the triumphs of this day. “Why do you think he was born that way?’

“Erm…” he stammered, not sure of what she was asking.

“Oh I mean the calf, not my father!” she laughed.

“There can be a number of reasons…” he replied, happy to exchange one difficult conversation-- one well beyond his depths--with one in which he was well-versed. “Often it is that the mother consumed a diet deficient in energy and protein. Lack of protein in late gestation is usually the main culprit. We’d need to do some blood work on Minta to see if we are facing vitamin A or selenium deficiencies….”

---

“I can’t believe he came! I told him Prudie could collect me but he came himself anyway,” Demelza laughed when she looked out the surgery window and saw Ross’s old truck.

“Thanks again, Demelza,” Dwight called as she quickly gathered her belongings and darted through the rain towards the waiting truck. 

Dwight knew he had about an hour before his next homevisit, just enough time to write up his notes on the Bodrugan calf. But he’d have to approach that task carefully since the mother was Choake’s patient, not his. He’d already suggested to Ned that they have hay and grass samples tested by a lab, but suspected Choake would dismiss that as unnecessary. 

Choake thought everything was unnecessary and probably hadn’t entertained a curious thought since John Major was in office. 

Speaking of curious...Dwight wondered how Demelza had gotten on with Choake or if the old vet had even noticed there was an intern in the clinic at all.

Dwight was glad to have spent the morning with the girl, and having seen how kind and clever she was, he felt he better understood Ross’s faith in her--and his interest in her future. 

Or was there more there that Dwight wasn’t privy to?

He looked out the rain-streaked clinic window at Demelza sitting in the passenger seat of Ross’s idling truck. She appeared to be explaining the events of the day, and as she spoke she was rather animated, almost bouncing with a sort of happiness, visible through her smiling face and gesturing hands. 

But was it just typical school girl excitement after such an exhilarating adventure with the calf or was it something more? Perhaps the excitement had more to do with the man she was talking to and not just the tale she was telling. 

And Ross? His dark head was turned toward her, as though he were listening intently as she spoke. Then, just before he put the truck in gear and drove them away, he reached over and ran his hand down her hair.

It had been a subtle gesture yet unmistakably one of affection. But was it inappropriate? It hadn’t been overtly sexual but had suggested intimacy nonetheless. If it had been the housekeeper, Prudie, Dwight would not have given it a moment’s thought.

But Ross Poldark wasn’t Prudie. He was an attractive single man, not yet in his thirties, living on his own--well, not anymore. Now he had a seventeen year old girl to keep him company. And what sort of company?

Dwight tried to recall the first conversation he’d had with the two of them back at Nampara the week before. Ross had introduced Demelza by name and said she was his...

What was it that he’d said?

Farmhand. That was it--perfectly neutral without betraying any deeper relationship. But Dwight had caught on then that Ross and Demelza were friends, and good ones at that. They were unthinkingly relaxed around each other in a way old mates tended to be--so familiar that they almost didn’t seem aware of one another at all, yet also connected, able to anticipate the other’s needs or thoughts without saying a word.

Whatever words Ross had used to introduce her that day, he hadn’t come across as dodgy or hiding anything about Demelza, though it was possible that Dwight had missed something.

Dwight twisted his lips in consternation, unsure what his role here was. Whatever the girl's personal situation, she seemed to be thriving. She was lighthearted and spoke of friends, he knew her marks in school were good, so there were no obvious signs of distress, of trauma, of forced isolation or emotional abuse or any of the things one might look out for. Most importantly, she was old enough to consent to whatever it was she was involved in, and her father knew of her living situation, or so she said. 

Still, it felt odd to him, especially when he reminded himself that she was so young. It wasn’t just the age difference--he’d certainly known couples with more pronounced ones--but what age meant in that stage of her development. The things she’d yet to see or experience, the mistakes she’d yet to make. He compared this to the hells he knew Ross had already been through. It was a decidedly uneven pitch they were playing on.

Odd, uneven, yes, but was it wrong? What if for the first time in the girl’s life Demelza was experiencing what it felt to be loved? 

Dwight liked to believe Ross would never take advantage of a vulnerable young girl, but no matter how he tried to convince himself of Ross’s honourable intentions, something gnawed at his conscience. 

Ross was vulnerable too, around matters of love especially, and that weakness might lead him to make questionable choices.

It’s Ross, I should speak to, Dwight thought. He’s been a mate for years and if there's one thing I know about him, he wouldn't lie. Maybe I can stop by Nampara after work today.

“Dr. Enys?” Emma called out, disturbing his thoughts. “Are you available to speak to Miss Penvenen for just a moment? I told her you weren’t in today but she’s sitting in the carpark and saw you return in the van just now…”

He sighed and shook his head in defeat. A conversation with Ross would have to wait for another time.

“Unless I slip out the back door it’s no use putting her off. Please tell her to come in, but I’ve only a few minutes.”

Notes:

As always, grateful to the wondrous Winston Graham for these characters, whom he truly loved, and it shows in his writing. Savvy readers will see I played a bit with names--in the novel Minta was the Trevaunance cow (but maybe she was the Bedrugan cow in the series?) and let's see who remembers Meggy Dawes?

I went down some rabbit holes of research to get this last chapter together. The story of an older, gentle bullock mentoring a dummy calf is not one I came up with, but something I saw in a video (that of course I can’t find now) but here are my other sources:

https://www.nadis.org.uk/disease-a-z/cattle/nervous-diseases-in-cattle/

http://www.brahman.com.au/technical_information/general/poorSuckingReflex.html

https://beef2live.com/story-addressing-weak-calf-syndrome-0-123081

https://iopscience.iop.org/article/10.1088/1748-9326/9/6/064006

Anyone seeing through my flimsy understanding of veterinary medicine, please do forgive me. All in the name of romance, my friends.

Thanks so much to readers who waited patiently for an update on this story (and some impatiently, but I appreciated the reminders, I really did).

Again, I promise there is more to come!

Chapter 57: Irons In the Fire

“Taste this, Poldark!” Richard Tonkin said, and handed Ross the small glass of the newest Carnmore brew.

“Well, that’s definitely hoppy. I see you mean to keep my hopyard in business,” Ross laughed. “Is that the new sixty minute IPA?”

“Yes, it is--and as of yet unnamed. The palette works? I was aiming for a sort of…West Coast American flavour”

“You really hit it. Good work, Tonkin.” He sensed Tonkin needed the reassurance. 

In the old arrangement, Tonkin focused exclusively on brew artistry while Trevaunance handled the business end of things. But since Trevaunance’s departure, Tonkin had been thrust into the role of Carnmore’s front runner so now finances, PR, even supply chain management were also his purview. Consequently he had less time for crafting than he’d preferred. Ross had made several silent vows to change that but hadn’t quite figured out just what he could offer their partnership besides a little charisma and even less capital. 

“I think, Ross, that we could have this ready for the Bodmin festival in September.” Tonkin laughed the jolly laugh he was known for. 

“That’s next month?” Ross cried. “Why did I think it wasn’t until October?” This would be Ross’s first time attending a beer festival as a featured brewer and not as just a hops farmer. The labour involved and the outlay of expenses was not insignificant.

“Relax. It's very late September so we have time. And hopefully we'll have the promotional reel ready by then as well.”

“Yes, that,” Ross said, unable to disguise his lukewarm feelings about the project.

Tonkin’s latest idea was to create a few short videos about Carnmore and its local connections, of course highlighting Nampara Hopyard as one of its suppliers. It would be one more way of differentiating them from other breweries and also a further contribution to the tourism trade of Cornwall. That last part didn't seem as important to Ross but he trusted Tonkin’s business sense and went along with it. 

Ross recalled how years ago, when they first were making a go of the hopyard, he’d disliked even having t-shirts made. So much had changed since then, still he wished he could keep a low profile, maintain a quiet private life.

That was unlikely.

“The film crew will be at your place on Wednesday,” Tonkin said looking in his diary.

“Wednesday? We may still have our Airbnb guests then so we’ll have to work around that,” Ross grumbled.

“They might find it enjoyable to watch unfold,” Tonkin suggested. “Adds to the authenticity and charm of a working farm, you know. But tell me Ross, why are you still doing that?”

“When I started I needed the extra income. And now...I still need the extra income,” he laughed. “But really, I have discussed it with…” Ross paused, unable to decide how to bundle Prudie and Demelza together into one package. To refer to them as ‘staff’ undercut Demelza's importance, but to refer to them as ‘friends’ overstated Prudie’s role. “I have discussed it with the others and we agreed this season will be the last. We book as much as a year in advance so it's not as though we can just lock the door on a whim,” Ross explained.

“You're a little like your father, you know. He always had a lot of irons in the fire.”

“Oh?” Ross wasn’t sure what to make of that.

“Well, maybe not. At least all your irons get successfully heated!” Tonkin clapped Ross on the back again with another peel of laughter. “Here is a proposed outline from the production company--I thought this would help you and yours get the place ready. They are calling for quite a few interior shots but it's up to you to decide exactly where.”

“In the...house?” Ross’s heart fell. He hated to ask the others. That meant Demelza really--she’d been working so hard between the guests, the hopyard, and now the veterinary clinic. He’d need to carve out time from his own schedule to help her.  He’d been known to scrub a floor or wash a window on his own, although admittedly he hadn’t had to in years. And if anyone could motivate Prudie to put in her best effort it would be Demelza, so maybe they really could pull together as a team. 

Then again, knowing Demelza as Ross thought he did, there was a good chance she’d enjoy the whole process and even find it exciting. She loved staging rooms and making things look their best--she’d been silently doing that to his home since she first arrived years ago. He made up his mind to let her choose the best spaces at Nampara to propose for the film crew. He always trusted her judgement.

“If this rain doesn't clear it will be all indoor shots,” Tonkin said. “Ross, how is your uncle doing?” he asked suddenly.

“Uncle Charles? He’s much better. The doctors expect he can return home later this week. I’m on my way over to see the Trenwith Poldarks now,” Ross explained. 

“Give my regards to them all, will you? Did you know your Aunt Agatha was at school with my Gran?”

“No, I did not,” Ross answered. That Aunt Agatha Poldark was ever a young girl was hard to imagine.

“She was clever, outspoken and opinionated, according to my Gran anyway. She did not suffer fools gladly.”

“Yes, that sounds like Aunt Agatha,” Ross laughed and gathered up his bag to go. 

“Okay, see you later, Ross,” Tonkin said. “Oh and try to think up some names for this new IPA. I told the design team we’d have it by the end of the week.”

Ross closed the door to his truck and exhaled deeply before switching on the ignition. So many deadlines looming large. The festival, the video shoot, even naming this IPA...was he really so out of touch with time lately? 

And just where had the summer gone?

----

“Hi Everyone, this is the St. Agnes Veterinary Surgery. I’m Emma…”

“And I’m Demelza…” Demelza looked straight into the camera then bit her lip trying to contain the laugh that was bubbling up in her chest.

“Today we're going to show you how to brush your dog’s teeth…” Emma continued but her efforts were no use. 

Demelza snorted and Emma gave up her own valiant struggle. She first offered Demelza a playful punch to the arm followed by a bear hug, and the two collapsed to the floor in a heap of giggles. Eager to get in the game, Bone, Dr. Eny’s labrador retriever, began licking Demelza’s face, which didn't help her pull herself together.

“Bone, my love, your breath is beastly. You do a need a tooth brushin’!” she chuckled.

“Bone! Leave Demelza alone,” Dwight sighed. “Okay, you two, you have to try to concentrate,” he implored them but he too was having hard time keeping a straight face. He put down his mobile and smiled.

“I can't help it,” Demelza cried. “Emma keeps givin’ me that look…”

“What look? I’m not doin’ any such thing…” Emma quickly raised her eyebrows Groucho Marx style.

“Oh Emma, you did it again!” Now tears were coming out of Demelza’s eyes while she struggled to catch her breath. “I’m sorry Dr. Enys, we’ll stop wastin’ your time...can we try it again?”

“Oh Bone! Come back here!” Emma called as the dog meandered away. “You’re the star of this video, you know.”

That day, between client visits, they had begun working on a series of short “How to” videos of basic procedures their clients could--and should--do at home with their pets. Brushing a dog’s teeth, cleaning a cat’s ears, applying flea preventatives, etc. It was a lofty project--Dr. Enys’s idea but the staff had jumped aboard eagerly. Yet despite all their enthusiasm, they had yet to make any solid progress.

“Seriously, Dr. Enys, you‘re the one who should be on camera, not us,” Demelza said. She meant he was the expert but the fact that he was attractive didn’t hurt either. She could think of a number of his clients who would love to watch him perform even the nastiest of procedures.

“No, this is intentional,” Dwight explained. “If you two, the junior staff, do it, then it signals this is basic care, not advanced, and requires no medical degree.”

“Dr. Enys, a word?” Dr. Choake appeared in the doorway, decidedly unamused. It occurred to Demelza just then she never had seen the man smile, not even once.

Dr. Choake was not in favour of the video project and had been very vocal about that. He thought it would lead to a loss of revenue if people were no longer booking appointments to the surgery and instead were doing things at home, themselves.

“On the contrary,” Dwight had argued. “This way they’ll be more likely to come in regularly because they will be more personally invested in their pet's health. They’ll be more attuned to notice subtle changes and catch problems in time. Plus it builds trust.”

In the end Choake reluctantly agreed when he saw it would bring some free publicity to them. He did not like the idea of wasting business hours on the filming though, and the sight of Demelza and Emma on the floor in fits of hysterical giggling was not helping the cause.

“Let’s finish this another time, shall we?” Dwight said to the girls with a warm smile. But as he walked off with Choake, he turned back to them and comically raised his eyebrows several times.

Demelza clapped her hand to her mouth, lest Choake think she was laughing at him.

“Enys is such a good sport,” Emma said and stretched out on her back. 

“Yes, he is,” Demelza said. “Well I’d better go finish cleanin’ the examination rooms.” She got to her feet and found her mop and bucket waiting for her in the corner.

“Alright, Melzie. But once you’re done, I’ll give you a lift home. It’s still raining and besides maybe I can catch a glimpse of that lovely boss of yours?”

“Sorry, mate. You’re out of luck,” Demelza said. “Mr. Poldark isn't home today so you’ll have to settle for Prudie.” 

“A girl can dream, can’t she?” Emma sighed.

“Yes, yes she can.” Demelza thought about her own dream that had come to fruition, but said no more on the subject.

Chapter 58: Little Corners

“Demelza?” Ross knocked softly, listening for any sounds within that might signal an invitation to enter.

“Ross? It’s unlocked,” Demelza called. “You don't have to be so formal, you know.” She smiled a bright but tired smile as he filled the door frame. “This room is yours too, Ross, at least as long as we’ve guests in the main house.”

She hopped closer to him and closed the door behind them both. No one else was letting the barn rooms but he appreciated the extra layer of privacy all the same. He kissed her lips then her forehead, lingering a little to take in the softness of her hair.

“Busy day?” he asked.

“Yes but...it was satisfyin’. I'll tell you about it later, after you’ve had a chance to unwind,” she said. “Did you eat?”

“I did--and you? Tell me you didn't just have ramen?” he asked, looking at the remnants of the meagre supper on her desk.

“I didn't feel like dealin’ with other people and sharin’ the kitchen with the guests,” she shrugged. “This was fine. I like soup on rainy days.”

Ross was going to quip back that a foam cup of instant noodles wasn’t the same as soup--not like her usual savoury soups anyway--but he decided instead to let it go, grateful that she hadn't asked him exactly what he’d eaten. Or where.

It wasn’t that he was hiding where he’d been, he’d told her his plans that morning--hadn’t he? But maybe it was still better left undiscussed for the moment. Like she’d just said, until after he’d had a chance to unwind. Hopefully that would happen soon.

The truth was, even after his solitary drive home, Ross was still a little unnerved by today’s visit to the other Poldarks at Trenwith Road. It wasn’t that Elizabeth was thorny or icy or even needy. She was in fact very even-keeled and reasonable. Nice even. Perhaps the last few weeks with her husband in hospital had finally given her some mature perspective. But the experience of having a pleasant, genuine conversation with Elizabeth had left Ross feeling off guard.

It had been far easier to categorize her as an enemy, to dismiss her entirely, rather than really engage her. And to think of her as a friend or even as family, which she had been legally to Ross for years now, brought even further complications.

Better not to dwell on that now, Ross thought to himself and without meaning to, sighed aloud.

He sat down on Demelza’s bed and slipped off his stiff shoes, then loosened his necktie. The number of days he was wearing one of those seemed to be growing. If it had been just him and Tonkin today he wouldn't have bothered, but that morning they'd met with the accountants as well. Ross felt like he wore the tie as part of a costume to convince others--and himself--that he was really fit for the role of responsible businessman.

And yet it was curious--he did seem to be growing used to it, so much so that he hadn’t removed the tie when he visited the Trenwith Poldarks. No one there had commented but they must have found it a striking contrast to his usual farm attire of muddy boots, dirty jeans, worn flannel shirts.

Maybe that’s why everyone there was friendlier today, he thought sourly.

“Demelza?” Ross asked, suddenly looking around him. “What’s all this?”

She’d set up the clothes drying rack in the corner but on just about every other possible surface, wet laundry had been draped. His shirts--his dress shirts not the soft and overly-worn checked ones--hung on hangers hooked over the top of the window frame.

“I did a wash today but the tumble dryer isn’t workin’ properly,” she said. “Let’s hope the guests weren’t needin’ it. I’ll let them know tomorrow and if so, I can haul their clothes to the launderette in Perranporth.”

“You’ll do no such thing,” he said more sharply than he’d intended. 

That she’d been washing his clothes and eating ramen alone in her room while he dined on braised lamb at Elizabeth's table rankled him. Of course it was himself he should be angry with or the general unfairness of the situation, not Demelza. It had just come out wrong. It often did. “Why don’t you let Prudie help you with these chores?”

“She never hangs your shirts properly and then they need a full ironin’ afterwards instead of just a touch up,” she explained. “Besides, there’s…” She darted her eyes across the collection of fine underwear she’d acquired over the past months. Lace, silk--Ross was well acquainted with how they felt to his touch and how they looked stretched against the curves of Demelza’s firm flesh. Of course, she’d want to keep those private.

“Well then, we’ll have to get a new tumble dryer,” he said firmly.

“You keep spendin’ money we don’t have,” she laughed.

We. It wasn’t lost on him that she took his burdens on as her own.

“Maybe I can fix it,” he sighed again. “Is it not heating or not turning properly?”

“Heatin’...it wasn’t that bad a few weeks ago--just took a little longer but now there’s no heat at all…” she explained and moved a pair of his wet jeans from the bed to a chair by the desk.

“You knew this weeks ago? And you didn't tell me?”

“Ross, you’ve been so busy…”

“And you have too!” He hadn’t intended it to sound like an accusation.

“I just meant it didn't seem a priority. The weather has been nice up til now so hangin’ the wash outside wasn’t a problem. And you know how it is--sometimes if you ignore somethin’ long enough, it might just fix itself.”

She laughed and he was instantly grateful that she’d somehow remained impervious to his grey mood.

The whole room felt damp and smelled like wet laundry but somehow through it all, he could make out her own distinct scent. It moved him and he took her hand in his.

“Demelza, you tell me if you really believe that,” he said and pulled her down next to him on the bed.

“Well, sometimes that’s the easier approach. Besides you can’t take on all the world’s burdens and fix everythin’ all the time, Ross. You just gotta focus on improvin’ your own little corner of the world,” she said softly while further undoing his neck tie. She pulled the tie off entirely then playfully put it behind his head, pulling him into a kiss.

“My own little corner?” he laughed. She’d told him this before but he appreciated the reminder.

With the rain beating down steadily and his house occupied by paying guests, his life that evening had very much been reduced to one tiny corner--her room.

But with her warm, familiar company he felt at that moment, he had more than enough.

"I like that corner very much," he said and kissed her again.

Chapter 59: Something To Tend

July 2011

Demelza shifted uncomfortably, the backs of her knees sweaty, her thighs sticking to the hard seat. These desk chairs were all made out of some sort of resin or hard plastic, at one time smooth but over the decades, wear and tear had roughed their edges--wear and tear helped along by biros and scissors and protractors from maths kits, but probably not actual knives. Now the seats were notorious for scraping skin, snagging tights, and causing low grade but persistent torture to the pupils in the Illogan Primary School.

She mustn’t fidget. 

Miss Dustow-Lamb did not like fidgeting and all term long Demelza had been called out for not sitting still. Legs always moving, fingers twitched as though fretting some imaginary violin. When she tried to still herself by chewing on her pencil, she’d been scolded for that as well.

“A dirty habit, really, to chew on things,” Miss Dustow-Lamb had said somewhat sotto voce but everyone had heard it. She may as well have said, “Another filthy habit you've brought from your filthy family. Have you learned nothing from us, Demelza?”

A bee buzzed lazily through the open window but this time Demelza used all her will not to turn her head and watch its bumbling path around the classroom. 

She had learned.  

Demelza had learned a great deal in Miss Dustow-Lamb’s class that year and she wanted her teacher to be proud of what a good pupil she was becoming. Her lesson books had gotten neater and she hardly ever made careless errors in her maths or spelling. She didn't read ahead anymore whilst the rest of the class was stumbling through some read-aloud story. Demelza knew--she’d learned--that she’d only lose her place if she continued through on her own. Then when she was called on, she’d need to be given the first sentence to remind her where they were and everyone would assume she didn’t know the words or hadn't been able to keep up. And then Miss would inevitably sigh and look so disappointed in her.

Why didn’t Miss like her the way she liked Katie or Haylee or Tyler? She always smiled at them and generously sprinkled “well dones” on them no matter how crap or insincere their efforts were. But it wasn’t worth asking the question. It was probably best if Demelza just wasn’t noticed at all.

A single bead of sweat rolled down from Demelza’s brow but thankfully didn't smudge her paper; Miss didn’t like untidiness and she’d have had to start her work all over again. 

It was July already--their last day of the term--and much too warm inside and outside of the classroom for Demelza to be wearing her school sweater. But she stubbornly kept it on to cover the ill-fitting uniform that ballooned about her tiny frame. The grey skirt was pinned at the waist and the supposedly short sleeves on the supposedly white blouse came all the way down to her elbows.

They had belonged to another girl--Dora Tresidder--who lived at #39 Wesley Road and whose mother had sold it secondhand to Demelza. Not to Tom Carne but to Demelza herself. Her father couldn't be bothered with school uniforms or school dinners or his own school-aged children for that matter. Some might have viewed it as a kind and generous act but in truth, Mrs.Tresidder had asked far too much money for the already hardworn uniform--had someone else owned it before Dora?---ignoring that it was clearly too big for Demelza.

“Tis a bargain, girl, you’ll see. So much room to grow, you‘ll get so much wear out of it, then,” Mrs. Tresidder had explained. “It comes out to like payin’ only one quid a year, all the years you have it.”

The reasoning didn't really seem to make sense to Demelza especially since Mrs. Tresidder wasn’t offering any sort of payment plan, like a quid now and then another each term she wore the damned thing. And exactly how long would that be, anyway? At one time she’d harboured a hope she’d actually grow into it before next autumn--when she was supposed to switch to the big girl uniforms for secondary school--but now after a full year with no results, she doubted she ever would. 

Demelza didn't have a choice, really. Dora’s cast-offs were still cheaper than buying something new, and she supposed it was nice that someone in the neighbourhood was looking out for Tom Carne’s kids, since he clearly wasn’t.

----

Demelza walked slowly along the pavement, trying not to drag her feet. Inside her scuffed shoes, a hole had emerged in her sock and she could feel it creeping its way up her foot. Good timing. She had all summer before she’d have to worry about replacing her school socks.

Her school bag was heavy this afternoon with all the flotsam and jetsam that had accumulated in her locker and desk, and now was to be carted home at end of term.

All the other pupils shouted and skipped and raced from the school yard, eager to begin their summer hols but Demelza didn't have that same cheer when looking at the weeks that stretched out ahead of her. Mostly she’d be minding her brothers and cleaning the house--only to have it be messed again by her brothers who were rather “unmindable.” The rest of the time she’d need to give her father and his hair-trigger temper a wide berth.  

Still today, as she walked home, Demelza did have one small thing to look forward to. In her hands she held, oh so carefully, what she considered most precious treasures. 

Miss  Dustow-Lamb had given each pupil a zinnia, just sprouted, in a wee pot. 

“Something alive and growing and dazzling, just like you all are,” she’d said and smiled at Katie and Haylee and Tyler but hadn’t even looked at Demelza. “It will remind you of all our lessons this spring.”

Demelza had been fascinated by their lessons on plant reproduction and carefully coloured the pistons and stamens and petals and all the other essential parts of the flower diagram in her lesson book, but it had been others that Miss had hung up as dazzling examples of meticulous work.

Yes, it was probably best if she just wasn’t noticed at all.

“And the pots are biodegradable!” Miss Dunstow-Lamb had added before she dismissed the class for the last time. “That means you can plant the flower, pot and all, right in your garden.”

Demelza wasn’t sure what sorts of gardens Miss thought her pupils had at home, she was rather sure most had rough old patches of pavement like she did, and that the only growth was the weeds that popped up through the cracks. Demelza planned to keep her zinnias indoors on her windowsill but then remembered there was one small pile of dirt in the back that she could dig up for her flowers.

Flowers. She had more than one now, four little pots in fact, because a few of her schoolmates chucked theirs as soon as they left the yard--either in the bin or at each other. So naturally Demelza rescued three other abandoned ones. She took secret pleasure that one of the discarded zinnias had been Tyler’s.

“You can have mine, too, Demelza,” her mate Isabella had offered. Bella, as she was called, wouldn't be planting anything because she was moving house that summer.

“We’re going abroad,” Bella had explained to Demelza earlier that spring and the way she’d said it (“AB- rohd”) made Demelza think it was a specific place, like maybe somewhere in Devon, rather than literally anywhere. Later Bella tearfully revealed, to Demelza alone, that she’d been purposely vague because her mum didn't want her ex--the mum’s recent beau, not Bella’s real Dad--to know where they were going. It broke Bella’s heart to not tell Demelza, she'd so looked forward to being pen pals and exchanging postcards, as if anyone did that anymore.

But Demelza understood and knew if she had a chance to get away from Tom Carne and his wickedness, she’d go for it too. No matter who she left behind. She didn't say this to Bella, just clapped her on the shoulder and said, encouragingly, “It’s okay mate, we’ll see each other again. Maybe in uni when you’re studyin’ to be a brain surgeon and I’m in veterinary school.”

“Unlikely, Demelza, since I’m rubbish at science and you are gonna be Britain's Next Top Model,” Bella had laughed. Demelza didn’t know what to say in return--it might have been the first time anyone had ever called her pretty. But she hadn't really and surely Bella was just having a laugh.

“Take my flower, please? I know Miss would want that…” Bella pleaded this afternoon and Demelza folded over the front of her sweater to carry the extra little pot to oblige. 

“Can’t believe the term is over...I’ll miss you next year, Bella. At secondary school,” Demelza said looking down at the zinnia she hoped would be pink, and not at the girl who gave it over.

“Oh I’d be so intimidated by the work and even more so by the bus!” Bella said, “But I s’ppose you'd have been there to help me most days, Demelza?”

Next year they’d all have to take a town bus to school, and not just walk. Demelza didn’t have the heart to remind Bella that no matter where she ended up, she'd face harder school work and she’d probably be riding a bus the rest of her life.

Demelza was already well acquainted with the bus, riding it for family shopping and taking her brothers to appointments. There was nothing to fear, really. She’d already learned that the worst thing that could happen was that you'd get on the wrong bus or miss your stop, but that even then, most drivers were helpful and the buses usually returned to whence they came. It might take awhile, but in the end you'd be okay. And the unplanned detour could at least offer a bit of a break from day to day life, a chance to see new scenery anyway. Last year she’d accidentally gotten on a bus that took her beyond St. Ann’s, closer to the sea. It hadn’t been far in terms of miles but she felt like she’d traveled abroad (AB- rohd)... nowhere specific but just somewhere far away. As tempted as she’d been to get off and wander the countryside, she politely asked the driver if he’d be turning around.

“Don't you go cryin’, miss. We’ll get you back, I promise! Such a brave maid on the bus all on her own…” the driver had replied.

Of course, she wasn’t anywhere near crying and maybe was secretly hoping he wouldn’t be looping back at all. Then she could just get off and leg it towards the sea and start a brand new life, a happy accident indeed.

But most people wanted to help, if only you asked. Or if you insisted.

She’d learned.

---

“If yer boy Walcott hadn’t have been off-sides…”

“Aye, Tom, you takin’ the piss?”

“Fuck off, Gary….”

The loud voices and coarse laughter crept up from the back garden and in through Demelza’s bedroom window, further disturbing her already troubled sleep. She didn’t have to look out to imagine the scene. Her father and his mates standing around on the cracked concrete, drinking cans of cheap lager, smoking cigarettes. The off-colour jokes about what to do with women--especially drunk ones--and people of colour--especially immigrants--would probably be starting soon. Now they were talking about the result of some football match that half the party was happy about, and thus were shouting, but the others were not, so naturally they were shouting as well.

Demelza would have to make a choice. She could try to ignore the voices somehow or she could close her window but then suffer in the hot, airless room. Either way, sleep would most likely remain elusive. She rolled on her side, then gave up and rose to her feet. Another shower might cool her off.

The bathroom lock was still broken. Her brother Luke had used his shoulder to bust the door open while Sam, another brother, was inside. Luke claimed he was just having a laugh, but his idea of playing always seemed to involve some degree of menace. Tonight Demelza used one of Luke’s kettlebells, pushed against the door, to keep it shut. It was only 4 kilograms so anyone who really wanted to could push through. Still it offered her a vague pretense of security.

The cold water--something they always had plenty of--felt good on her face and neck and even though it was bracing, she felt herself relax.

Tomorrow she was going to try staking her zinnias. In the weeks since she’d brought them home they’d grown leggy and threatened to topple over entirely. 

At least they had taken. She’d been worried that the small patch of earth in the back was too shady or the soil was no good but they’d stubbornly grown, oblivious to the rest of the environment around them, a bit like the little gardener who cared for them. 

Demelza had collected some chopsticks from their recent take away and she hoped that when two were joined with cello tape, they'd be tall enough to work as stakes. 

Perhaps next year she’d be bold enough to plant more than just flowers. Maybe some vegetables or some herbs. She liked the feeling of having something to tend. 

Last April she had tried to take in a stray cat, luring it into her kitchen by giving it scraps of Cheestrings. But it had never really belonged to her. It only stayed for a day then walked off when one of her brothers left the back door open. Later that week she saw it in someone else’s window. It hadn't been homeless after all. 

What Demelza really wanted was a dog. A little puppy that she could play with and of course cuddle. She’d teach him how to mind her and she’d never hold back from saying “well done” at his efforts.

Her father said she could get one. Well, not exactly, but he’d told her she could have a dog when she was able to feed it and take on all its care and expenses. Actually his own words were much more rude than that, with certain expletives that didn't sound nice when put before the word ‘puppy’. 

But since then she'd saved a bit of enough money minding the neighbour’s kids, so maybe by next year she could make her dog dream a reality.

The shower worked wonders. She quickly twisted her wet hair into a messy plait and pulled her Justin Bieber nightshirt back on over her damp skin. Maybe her father and his mates had moved on, back into the house or out to a pub or anywhere far away from her window.

Without switching on the light in her room, she slipped back into her bed. She stretched out her restless legs, trying to think of pleasant thoughts to lull her into sleep. Fields of zinnias and sunflowers and daisies, baskets of striped kittens, wriggling puppies frolicking and rolling in the grass. 

“Awright, Gary, I told you you’d know when I was takin’ the piss.” Her father’s laugh always sounded like a snarl.

“Whoa! Whoa!” his mates roared in hysterics. 

“You made yer point, Tom, you made yer fuckin’ point,” the one who she supposed was Gary chuckled. “Yer old lady isn’t gonna be too happy ‘bout that.”

“Ain’t got one of those...I answer to no woman,” Tom said. Not, Oh my beloved wife has passed away leaving me to raise our children alone. No, he made it sound like he’d somehow triumphed by shedding a spouse and that his mates should be envious.

“Fucking hell,” Demelza grumbled and rose to her feet to go close the window. She knew whatever Tom Carne was saying, it would only get worse as he downed a few more cans.

But before she pulled the window shut she saw what all the fuss was about and what had left her father’s mates so wildly entertained: Tom Carne had literally taken the piss, and was continuing to do so, all over Demelza’s spindly zinnias.

So that’s that then, she thought. I’ve lost them and I’m alone. Something within her had risen up. Her heart that earlier had been thumping with rage had now slowed and she felt a strange cloud of steadiness pump through her instead. She wasn’t calm exactly, just shut off.  And it wasn’t a new feeling--in fact, these defenses were quite familiar.

She turned back to her bed and this time instead of burying her face in her hot pillow, she lay on her back, and breathed in slowly and then out again. It was something she could control.

Now she was even more committed to her plan. Come hell or high water, she was determined to find herself a dog. Maybe not this summer but someday soon. 

She’d find herself something to tend, something to love, and someone to finally love her back.

Notes:

Demelza’s response to her father’s cruelty is borrowed from Winston Graham’s passage describing young Ross’s reaction to losing his mother: “But when his mother died, even while he was crying, something within him had risen up, a barrier to shield off his weakness and tenderness and frailty. He had thought, All right, then, I’ve lost her and I’m alone. All right then. The adult impulse followed the childish…” from Demelza, Book Four, Chapter 48.

Chapter 60: What We Inspire

“Thought of you as my mountaintop, thought of you as my peak,” Demelza sang, a bit off key but she couldn’t really hear her own voice. The music coming from her ear buds was an even match for the roar of the vacuum. She was trying to get in some cleaning before the Airbnb guests returned from their early morning hike, and before she went out to work in the very wet hopyard. 

These house guests were a decidedly sporty family, fit and energetic, always looking to be doing something outdoors. So far, in their brief stay in Cornwall, they’d already kayaked, climbed cliffs, hiked, ridden horses and bicycles, and even went for a 5k run. 

“It was really a light one, just to stretch our legs a bit,” the mother had explained. She hadn’t even broken a sweat, as far as Demelza could tell. 

And they always seemed to embark on these ventures together, cheerfully, without a trace of sullen resistance from the two teenagers. The relentless rain that week hadn’t deterred them at all.

Demelza had a hard time keeping her body still--she always had--but that level of recreation and that sort of family cohesion was completely foreign to her. She supposed it was possible for children to like their parents and vice versa, she’d just never observed it in person.

“Demelza!” Prudie shouted almost right in her face, then tapped her on the shoulder a little too forcefully.

Demelza shut off her music and blinked several times at Prudie, a subtle way of telling her that her near-shrieking volume was a bit much. She hoped she wouldn't develop a bruise from Prudie’s strong fingers.

“Well, I had to get yer attention, somehow,” Prudie apologised half-heartedly. “It's yer mobile. That Chenowyth girl is ringin’ you again.”

“Chenowyth?” Demelza was confused. She only knew of one person that name belonged to--or used to anyway.

“Elizabeth’s cousin, Morwella…”

“Morwenna,” Demelza corrected her. “I didn't know she was Elizabeth’s cousin.” It all fell into place now. The strange loyalty and uncomfortable sense of duty that Morwenna had shown to Elizabeth seemed to go beyond professional obligation. 

“Yes, well, since it’s so early I thought it might be some sort of emergency with one of the older Poldarks, Miss Agatha or Uncle Charles,” Prudie explained. “And with Mister Ross havin’ left already this mornin’…”

Now Demelza looked quizzically at Prudie. Since when did she care about those Poldarks? And did Prudie really just refer to the man as Uncle Charles, as though she were part of that family connection? Or was her interest in the goings-on at Trenwith Road no more than her usual itch for some good gossip?

“Alright then. I’ll ring her back when I’m done in here,”  Demelza said. 

“I can help,” Prudie said earnestly.

Demelza thought for a moment. Prudie was not the most attentive cleaner, especially when it came to hoovering.

“Well, why don’t you go change the towels upstairs?” Surely she couldn’t muck that up. “No doubt our guests will need warm showers or even a hot soak after bein’ out in this rain.”

“Never did see anyone hike so much,” Prudie said, and satisfied with her modest assignment, turned to climb the stairs.

Demelza’s mobile rang again. This time she heard it and so instead of switching the vacuum cleaner back on, she went to go see what Morwenna needed.

“So sorry, Demelza. It’s Geoffrey Charles’s nanny again. She’s unable to come. This time I rang the care agency, like Mrs. Poldark instructed, but they haven’t got anyone they can send ‘round today. With the rain, we’re all trapped in the house and Miss Agatha is giving me such a hard time…

Simply because she can, Demelza thought. Maybe the Trenwith Poldarks’ nastiness was its own form of family cohesion.

“No worries. I’ve just a few things to finish up here, then I’ll be over straightaway,” Demelza said. She wasn’t sure why she was helping them again without a second thought. 

I probably have some ulterior motive that I’m hiding from myself, she thought. Maybe she had an itch for gossip as well.

----

Demelza raced from Prudie’s car, trying her best to dodge the rain but it was no use. The drops were coming down heavily and in just those few moments of standing at the front door, she felt her top getting thoroughly soaked.

No one answered, so she dashed round to the back of the house. Even in the rain, the Trenwith Road garden was looking spectacular. Sunflowers, fleshy dahlias, and bed after bed of zinnias, in all manner of colours. They proudly stood on their well tended stalks denying their inevitable mortality. Flowers loved and admired such as those had been would surely last forever.

Demelza pushed the twinge of envy deeper into her gut and kept moving. As she had hoped would be the case, the door off the terrace was unlocked.

She remembered the house rules and slipped out of her shoes, but not before leaving a puddle on the kitchen floor. Demelza hadn’t seen a maid or a cleaner last time she was there and wondered just who was responsible for keeping the white tiles and the white carpets so tidy and sparkling? She couldn’t imagine Agatha allowing Morwenna to leave her side for even a moment and surely Mrs. Poldark had never touched a mop in her entire life.

Still alone, Demelza stood in the silent kitchen for a moment and listened to the rain hitting the windows and roof. And something else, a gentle gurgle. 

She peeked out the window above the sink and saw that the gutter, once clogged with moss and debris, had been cleared so the runoff was safely channeled away from the house. Then straining her neck a little more, she spied the shutters had been re-fastened, this time at a proper angle.

She didn't have to guess who had attended to those tasks. Someone else with a strange sense of loyalty and duty to family. She only wondered if he’d changed out of his Carnmore business attire beforehand or wielded his drill whilst still in a necktie. Did she ask him or did he just volunteer his services?

“Oh thank god you’re here!” Morwenna cried when she saw Demelza standing, still dripping, in the kitchen. “Geoffrey Charles is upstairs watching a video. He’s not supposed to during the day but I figured since it was raining...that buys you about ten more minutes if you’d like a cup of tea.  I’m making one for Agatha and reckon I’ve only got five before she starts going off her head…” Morwenna sounded a bit desperate for adult conversation.

“Thanks, Morwenna. You know, I really admire your patience,” Demelza said, figuring she didn’t get much praise from day to day.

“My patience? Well...I try. I’m not actually trained to be a lady’s companion, I’m trained to be a home nurse,” she explained.

“Are you? That will be handy when Uncle...erm...Mister Charles comes home from hospital,” Demelza said. She’d been surprised Morwenna had any training and just assumed she had the job due to family connections. Of course she didn’t say this and instead felt a pang of guilt for having made such a snap judgement.

“Yes, well, they’ve other plans. Mrs. Poldark has already booked another nurse from the agency for Mr. Poldark, one with loads of heart care experience and high ratings…”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Demelza replied. “I mean, I’m glad he’s to get good care but it seems like you might have liked that sort of professional change?”

“A challenge but yes, a change. No, the stated reason they booked another nurse is that someone had to keep Miss Agatha company since Verity has gone.”

“Verity?” Demelza asked. Was there still bitterness toward Verity’s sudden departure?

“That’s when they brought me on full time, after Verity moved to Manchester earlier this summer. Miss Agatha has made it clear, time and again, that she finds me a poor substitute.”

“I’m sure you do your best, Morwenna,” Demelza said softly. 

“Well thank you. And thank you for coming today. Ellen, the nanny, claimed to have a tummy bug but I think she just needed a break! Geoffrey Charles runs circles around her. I was rather hoping the agency would send someone good today--oh, I don’t mean that you’re not good, Demelza, I just meant someone that we could keep on permanently.”

“Wenna?! Is Melza here yet?” Geoffrey Charles shouted as he clomped loudly down the stairs.  Demelza marveled how one little shoeless boy could make so much noise.

“Master Geoffrey Charles, manners…” Morwenna reminded him.

“Miss Wenna, is Miss Melza here...Yes! You are!" He pumped his excited little fist into the air. “Come, Miss Melza, let’s go upstairs so I can beat you at footie!”

“You can’t mean in the house?” Demelza laughed incredulously. This was going to be a long day.

“Not real football, silly, my FIFA game on Xbox.”

---

Demelza pulled out her mobile and checked the time. In a few minutes they could go downstairs and fix lunch. Not the most exciting adventure but it would give them something different to do, something to break up the monotony.  

As she’d expected, without being able to go outside, the morning had dragged along. Most of it they spent in the boy’s room where he’d rummage through one heaping basket of toys, then lose focus after a few minutes and move on to yet another basket. Demelza followed closely behind to clear up what he’d dumped or abandoned, sensing that it would not go over well with the family if his nursery was left untidy. 

She knew she shouldn’t care what they thought of her--she was helping them out again for fuck’s sake--but she did anyway. If they thought ill of her, might that somehow get to Ross? He didn’t need that complication in his life and she didn’t need anything chipping away at his esteem for her.

Unlike the rest of the house, Geoffrey Charles’s room wasn’t white, but the colours were still subdued. Beige and a cold blue that was somewhere between soldier and steel, a trendy scheme someone probably saw in a magazine, suitable for a boy yet not offensive to a parent’s eye--it  wouldn’t really stimulate a child either but most likely that hadn’t been the intention.

The FIFA game hadn’t lasted long at all. It was really too complex for a child his age and he quickly grew frustrated that Demelza was winning. As usual, he accused her of cheating.

“My uncle gave it to me,” Geoffrey Charles explained. “And I always win when I play with him.”

“Your uncle?” Demelza swallowed hard. She knew Ross was Geoffrey Charles’s cousin but because of the age difference he was referred to as Uncle Ross. Was it really possible that Ross would have given the boy such an expensive gift when he was so broke himself ? If he felt sorry for the boy, he might. Or was the sentiment more akin to devotion than pity?

“You're not following the rules, Melza. Let’s play a different game,” Geoffrey Charles proposed.

“Alright then, what about Super Lucky's Tale?”

“That’s for babies,” he sneered.

“Overcooked?”

“Cooking is for girls.” That tiring refrain again. 

“First of all, it’s a fun game so you don’t know what you are missin’ but secondly, loads of men cook and some of the best chefs in the world are men,” she tried to explain but knew her voice was only one drop in an otherwise full bucket of uninformed and biased opinions he’d picked up from his parents. She wondered what Ross would say--what Ross did say--in response to such sexist utterings. Did he laugh along or did he take the time to correct the boy?

She didn’t like where her thoughts were leading her today. 

Geoffrey Charles finally agreed on Just Dance and as it turned out, they were rather evenly matched. It proved a good outlet for Geoffey Charles to release some of his boundless energy. He would have liked to continue all day but after about half an hour,  Morwenna came in and sheepishly explained that their spirited play was disturbing Aunt Agatha who was trying to listen to some boring radio programme.

“Come then, I’ll make us some sandwiches,” Demelza said and led the boy downstairs. But no sooner than she’d opened the fridge, when the front door rang.

“Morwenna?” she called up to her. 

“Demelza, would you be kind enough?” Morwenna sounded perfectly tortured to even ask.  

Poor woman, Demelza thought. This house must be even more oppressive when all its occupants are present. Sure, Demelza was in the service trade herself and she did work hard at Nampara, both on the farm and taking care of their guests, but at least there, everyone was relaxed and just themselves, not trying to keep up some pretense of what they ought to be.

“Good mornin’...or is it afternoon?” Demelza smiled and without asking for any introductions allowed the stranger to step into the house and out of the rain.

The woman, tall and wet, handed Demelza her umbrella and hung her wet mack on an empty coat hook without speaking, then proceeded to look around with her large pale eyes. 

“I’m just helpin’ for the day,” Demelza finally said. “I’m Demelza. And you are…?

“Miss Jones. I thought you’d be expecting me. The agency sent me.”

“Oh, I’m afraid...erm...that’s not until later this week that they’ll be needin’ you for Mister Charles,” Demelza stammered. But she was out of her depths here and this wasn’t really her problem to solve, so she was relieved to see Morwenna coming down the stairs.

“The agency?” Morwenna asked. “Hawthorne Care?”

“Yes, I’m here to mind the boy,” Miss Jones said through thin lips.

“The boy?” Morwenna gasped. “Oh, that’s a bit of a surprise. They told me they had no one available when I rang them this morning so I cancelled the request when Demelza agreed to come round.”

“No, You must have misunderstood them,” Miss Jones corrected her. “I told them I wasn’t available until noon but that I’d come after that. And here I am.” Miss Jones was certainly pushy for someone in her shoes.

“Well come in, and glad you could make it, we were just about to have lunch,” Demelza said, trying to alleviate the tension and secretly thrilled that she could potentially go home earlier than she’d expected.

“Is this the boy?” Miss Jones asked sternly when she saw Geoffrey Charles seated on a kitchen stool, swiveling back and forth. She gave him one withering look and he stopped moving immediately. “Wash your hands then,” she ordered and Geoffrey Charles scampered off without objection.

---

“I hope you aren’t terribly inconvenienced that we don’t need you after all?” Morwenna asked Demelza as she drove her to the bus stop. Morwenna had begged her to stay for lunch and even invited her to join a game of cards with Aunt Agatha. Demelza sensed Morwenna wasn’t eager to be left alone with even more grim company but she just couldn’t rationalise staying too much longer, not when she had her own chores waiting for her at back at Nampara.

“I’m just glad to be of help. I imagine the family needs all the support it can get right now?” Demelza was fishing and she knew it.

“Yes, well, fortunately for her, Mrs. Poldark has received help from many of her friends these past weeks. So she hasn’t really been left to bear the brunt alone. She inspires that in them, I suppose,” Morwenna answered without naming any names. 

Demelza considered asking more pointedly if Elizabeth’s friends included family members--who also happened to be exes--but before she found the courage to speak, Morwenna’s mobile rang the first few bars of Ode to Joy. At the sound of it, Morwenna jolted in her seat.

“It's Mrs. Poldark ringing me now. Do you mind if I pull over to take this?”

“No problem,” Demelza said. No doubt Elizabeth also inspired people to take her calls immediately.

“What? Slow down, Mrs. Poldark...that can’t be!” Morwenna cried into her mobile. Demelza could hear the distress in Elizabeth’s voice but not her exact words. 

Please, please please let Uncle Charles be okay. It was as close to praying as Demelza had come in some time. 

She discreetly looked at her own mobile to gauge the time. She only had seven minutes before her bus was due to arrive. If she missed it, because of Elizabeth’s call, she’d have to wait another half hour.

“I’m sure we’ll figure something out….” Morwenna said limply, but she hardly sounded convincing. “Be brave, Mrs. Poldark. I’ll see you soon.”

“What is it?” Demelza asked, putting her hand gently on Morwenna’s arm. She could feel the tension in her muscles.

“Shit! Shit! What did I do? This is all my fault!” Morwenna cried, hitting the steering wheel over and over.

“You?”

“Yes. I’m afraid after you agreed to come round, I rang the agency and told them we didn't need the carer after all. But they must have misunderstood and thought I cancelled the request for Mister Poldark’s home nurse. It’s the same agency that books them both!”

“Oh?” Demelza asked. That couldn't be the whole of the dilemma.

“So that was Mrs. Poldark just now in a right panic. When she phoned them to finalise plans for Thursday--the day Mr. Poldark is supposed to come home--she was told there was no nurse. No nurse and no request on file. Everything deleted.”

“I see,” Demelza said. This wasn’t good. Any delays to Uncle Charles’s recovery and his return home would surely bring complications for them all. “Can’t Mrs. Poldark put in a fresh request? Or call another agency?”

“Not with such little notice. There’s a serious shortage of good home caregivers, especially nurse-trained ones.” 

“Maybe we can ring the agency back and explain it was all a mix up?” Demelza offered. 

"But I didn’t tell Mrs. Poldark the whole story just now. If she learns it was actually due to my error…”

“I can say it was me who mistakenly did the cancelin’, that I didn’t know…”

“No! Nothing--we’ll say nothing. The Poldarks are perfectly capable of working this out themselves,” Morwenna said shortly, unable to disguise the bitterness that finally bubbled up after months of mistreatment. “Promise me?”

“Erm...okay,” Demelza reluctantly agreed.

----

The whole bus ride home, Demelza tried to sort the situation, its tangled implications rattling around in her brain.

It seemed wrong to lie, as Morwenna was doing. Or maybe it wasn’t a lie exactly, just an omission of the whole truth. And it was probably wrong for Demelza to judge her harshly in this situation--living with that bloodless family in that sterile house might cloud anyone’s reasoning. Demelza might spend most of her days with kind people, who both believed in her abilities and accepted her mistakes, but not so for Morwenna. She probably didn’t know who to trust, poor thing. 

It also wasn’t Demelza’s place to say anything. And yet, it seemed like an equally bad idea to do nothing.

For some time now, Elizabeth had no longer felt like a credible threat to her. Even in the months before Demelza and Ross became intimately involved, Elizabeth seemed to have faded in her potency, her stranglehold over Ross’s inner landscape finally lessened. And when Elizabeth had last visited and was unable to veil her suspicions that relationships had Nampara had changed, and changed intimately, Demelza even dared to feel a certain triumph. But this whole time, despite her happiness that summer, Demelza must have known that the danger wasn’t truly gone.

Now, more than ever, that need, that fragility which Elizabeth oozed, well, it was attractive--even Demelza could see it. And this new situation would only highlight that. Elizabeth would require so much help, she’d be under such stress. Or Maybe Uncle Charles would be unable to return home and instead he’d go somewhere for rehabilitation? Then Elizabeth would need Ross more than ever and he’d of course oblige--Ross could never say no to a cause. And while he was helping ‘the family,’ he’d be close to her again, once more drawn in by her beauty. Her mystery. 

Then at night he’d return to the bed he shared with Demelza, knowing exactly what to expect and knowing she would always be there like a faithful dog. A self-sufficient one who didn’t need him--at least not in the way lovely lovely Elizabeth did. No mystery, no excitement. Perfectly attainable but decidedly less desirable.

No! She mustn't allow herself to think this way, to let her own sour feelings spoil what she and Ross had together. As of now this was all in her head, she had no solid intelligence that outside forces were conspiring against them. She put in her ear buds and sighed, looking out at the rain still coming down in sheets.

Thought of you as my mountaintop, thought of you as my peak, thought of you as everything I've had, but couldn't keep, Lou Reed sang.

“Fuck this,” she muttered. She switched off the music and instead dialed a familiar number in her contacts. Thankfully it was picked up after just two rings.

“Demelza!”

“Hello, Verity...” 

Notes:

Pale Blue Eyes lyrics © Sony/ATV Music Publishing (Songwriter: Lou Reed)

Also borrowed this sentiment from Winston Graham’s Warleggan when describing Demelza’s fears about Elizabeth. Mine is a shabby interpretation but here are WG’s original words:

“Elizabeth had not appeared so much in that light this last year; but she was always a danger. Once Ross saw that fair fragile loveliness . . She was the unknown, the unattainable, the mysterious. His wife he knew would be here always like a faithful sheep dog, no mystery, no remoteness, they slept in the same bed every night. They gained in intimacy, lost in excitement. Or that was how she felt it must be with him.”

Chapter 61: Memory of a Garden

“Need a ride, love?” 

Demelza took a single step out of the bus shelter but the rain was so heavy and big drops immediately fell into her eyes, obscuring her vision. She didn’t really need to see though--she recognised the voice, and without hesitation darted towards the familiar blue Corsa.

“Mrs. Carter! Thank you, yes!” Demelza laughed and settled into the passenger seat. The car was an older model but immaculate inside and out, and smelled strongly of floral. It took Demelza a moment to realise the scent was coming from the driver and not a hidden air freshener. “I’m sorry I’ll get your seat all wet,” Demelza apologised.

“Poor girl, you’re soaked through. Of all the days, you didn’t take an umbrella?” Mrs. Carter asked with the mix of scolding and worry a mum would betray. She reached across and adjusted the air vent so it wouldn’t blow directly on Demelza.

“I know, I know. It would be proper to carry one, wouldn’t it?” Demelza said. “But I tend to forget to do so when it's rainin’, bein’ on a farm most days…”

“Yes, on a farm an umbrella does you no good. Not too many chores you can do one handed, are there? But that excuse doesn’t hold up, girl, since you’re not wearin’ a proper mac either.” Mrs. Carter laughed and pulled back out into the road.

“Thank you, really,” Demelza said again. 

She had been just about to ring Prudie to ask her to collect her from the bus stop but had hesitated, knowing how much the woman would complain coming out in the deluge. Mrs. Carter's well-timed appearance saved her both the wait and the nuisance of listening to Prudie’s moans. 

Demelza looked at the clock on the dashboard. It wasn’t late at all--not even 1:30--but she felt as though she’d put in an exhaustingly full day already. She wanted nothing more than a hot shower and to slip into bed and hide from the world--and from herself. Actually she’d most like to crawl into Ross’s bed. That wasn’t possible since they had guests in the house, but if they hadn’t, would she dare do that without him? Just how much of Nampara was genuine shared territory and where was she still just a guest herself?

“You can switch the music off, if you’d like,” Mrs. Carter said and turned the volume down a bit as though she was used to being teased for her choices. 

Demelza didn’t know the song but the heavy reliance on synthesizers gave away the genre. It was the same 1980s pop that Prudie liked. She would never dare to fiddle with the knobs when Prudie was driving so she’d become quite familiar with Bananarama and Howard Jones and the like. Over the years, Demelza had come to adopt Prudie’s belief that the driver rightfully got to impose their playlist on the others. 

Ross never did though. He’d always allowed her--invited her--to choose what played in his truck. He’d been forgiving of her crap taste when she was younger and even seemed interested to hear what she liked. Demelza had appreciated that about him. 

Would he always remain so interested, so forgiving? 

Without meaning to, she sighed loudly.

“That kind of day, eh?” Mrs. Carter laughed.

“No...no really, it’s gotten loads better since you came along. Oh and thank you for the flowers you sent home with Ross last week,” Demelza remembered to say, quickly deciding not to mention Jim or the visit to Dartmoor at all.

“It’s the least I could do, after all you and Ross have done for my family,” Mrs. Carter replied. “I expect you probably have a lovely garden of your own at Nampara.”

“Oh no, I haven't really tried so much with flowers. Maybe I’ll give it a go. But I imagine it’s too late for this summer, isn’t it?”

“I’ll let you in on a secret, Demelza,” Mrs. Carter smiled. “Zinnias are really easy to get goin’ and rather hard to kill.”

You’d be surprised, Demelza thought but didn’t say anything aloud. 

“Grace Poldark, Joshua’s wife, now she had a lovely garden. Unlike anythin’ I ever seen. She could have won awards--of course she did it just for the satisfaction, not for the recognition.”

“Did you...did you know Mrs. Poldark well?” Demelza asked. “Only Ross doesn’t talk much about her.” 

He’d once told her he remembered very little about his mother but since Demelza also didn't have that many of her memories of her own mother, she never pushed the issue.

“Grace? Yes, she lived up to her name, for sure. She was...she was as near to bein’ perfect as any woman I ever knew,” Mrs. Carter said. “She was very kind to me at a very difficult time in my life,” she added softly. 

“Oh,” Demelza said, sensing there was more to the story. A sad story, one that perhaps now only Mrs. Carter knew since Grace and Joshua Poldark were long dead. 

“Where was Mrs. Poldark’s garden?” Demelza asked. “I mean, where at Nampara?”

“Just outside Joshua’s library. I think she did that on purpose so he’d look out and see somethin’ cheery.”

The kitchen garden Demelza had found and resurrected but nothing remained of Grace’s flowers now, not a single trace. Demelza wondered if Joshua had dug it up himself, unable to bear the sight or if he just watched it decay and fade away over all the years he grieved her. 

What would Ross do if I were gone? she found herself wondering then shook away the thought before it had a chance to take root.

“Who’s that then?” Mrs. Carter asked as they rolled up into the muddy Nampara yard. 

Ross was holding an umbrella--a huge black and white one emblazoned with intertwined G’s--over a tall woman’s head while she rummaged in the boot of her black Porsche. She appeared to be looking for something and was undeterred by the rainfall. Even from a distance, Demelza could tell the woman was attractive. Slim and blonde and well-dressed.

“Now that’s a proper umbrella,” Mrs. Carter said, ignoring the Porsche altogether. 

“Definitely not Ross’s,” Demelza laughed.

“Not the Gucci type, is he?” Mrs. Carter teased. “Probably worth more than my car! Wait, I’ll pull up closer to the door.” Mrs. Carter put a gentle hand on Demelza’s arm, holding on for just a moment, another long-practised gesture of a mother. It stirred something in Demelza, a sense of grieving for something she hadn’t even known she’d lost.

“No, here is fine. You’ll get stuck in the mud if you go any further,” Demelza said then scanned the curiously empty yard. No guests and no Mondeo. 

“Looks like that Porsche is in trouble then,” Mrs. Carter observed. “Oh dear.”

“Wait! I know her!” Demelza said, unclicking her seat belt and leaning forward to get a better look through the rain streaked windscreen.

“Well you’ve got some posh friends now?” Mrs. Carter laughed again. Demelza liked to see her smile but figured the woman didn’t have many opportunities to do so lately. 

“No, no, she’s a patient at the surgery. I mean her dog is,” Demelza explained.

What was Caroline Penvenen doing at Nampara?

---

“Ah!!” Demelza squealed as she sprinted across the yard towards the back door. Before she’d stepped out of Mrs. Carter’s car she’d already been wet but she felt no need to linger in the relentless rain. The sooner she could put this miserable soggy day behind her the better. It might have made more sense to go straight to her room in the barn to change but she desperately wanted a cup of tea--and to see Ross. Her uncomfortable clothes she could easily shed but not so the uneasiness she felt in her gut. 

From this spot in the yard, she knew exactly how many steps it was to the kitchen door: 46, maybe fewer if she ran. But her plans were thwarted when she pulled her foot right out of her trainer as it got stuck in the mud.

“Fucking hell,” she muttered and carefully hopped back to retrieve her shoe. 

“Demelza?” Ross turned towards her, taking the umbrella he was holding with him. He started to take a step forward leaving Caroline Penvenen exposed to the rain before he realised his mistake and handed the umbrella over entirely.

Demelza couldn’t hear what Caroline said next but she doubted the woman was pleased to have been abandoned.

Ross reached Demelza in what seemed like only a few long strides. He didn't speak but put his arm around her, bending low, as if to protect her from the downpour. She could feel his warm hand through her wet sleeve and welcomed the sensation as he ushered her on towards the kitchen door.

“Miss Penvenen,” Ross called over his shoulder. “Please come back inside.”

It was suddenly much quieter once they were indoors. Demelza slipped off her muddy shoes and had Caroline not come in right behind her, she would have stripped off her top as well. Instead she fumbled for a tea towel to wipe her face. Ross disappeared down the hallway then returned a moment later with several clean fluffy bath towels.

“Not those, Ross," Demelza began. “Those are for the guests. Use the…”

“Thank you, Mr. Poldark,” Caroline said, accepting one of the towels and using it to wipe the rain from a leather portfolio she’d been carrying. 

“Demelza, Miss Penvenen is here for the film shoot,” Ross explained. “Miss Penvenen, this is Demelza…”

“Demelza? Oh my! I thought I recognised you. You’re Dr. Enys’s assistant, aren’t you?” Caroline asked.

“Yes…no. I mean, I’m only an intern at the surgery a few days a week. I’m here at Nampara full time,” Demelza flashed a smile but she still was horribly confused. “Ross? The film shoot? Is that today?” she gulped.

“No, I’m just scouting today. Please call me Caroline,” she said and setting her portfolio down, began to use the towel to squeeze rain from her long hair. 

Demelza thought she’d never seen blonde hair so lovely--the colour of sunshine, a sorely missed commodity. It looked natural but perhap was just an amazing, and expensive, dye job.

“So tell me, Demelza,” Caroline said, “do you really have the daily pleasure to work with two such devastatingly handsome men? Dr. Enys and Mr. Poldark?”

Completely caught off guard, Demelza found herself laughing. Was Caroline really flirting with Ross so openly?

“Erm...call me Ross...” he said uncomfortably. He lit the cooker and put on the old copper kettle for tea instead of simply switching on the electric one. He kept his back turned as he fumbled to gather cups and tea bags.

“How’s your little Horace doin’?” Demelza asked, trying to remain friendly. That Ross looked so ill at ease by Caroline’s attention helped her find her footing. She should have known that it wasn’t just any pretty face that turned his head.

Well maybe just one other face… Demelza dared to torture herself with the thought.

“Oh poor Horace’s tummy is much better but I may need to bring him to the surgery for dental work soon,” Caroline said. “I’ve never been one to brush my dog’s teeth and don’t tell me I should learn--that’s what Dr. Enys tells me every time.”

“Oh, it’s not difficult,” Demelza began, thinking of their failed video project. “I’d be happy to show you…”

As if on cue, a series of sharp barks sounded from behind the closed library door. “Coming my darling,” Caroline answered and without paying any notice to her hosts, she left the room to go attend to what Demelza assumed was Horace himself calling out to her.

“Ross? Where’s Garrick?” Demelza asked in a mild panic. Garrick got on well with other dogs--even the smelly, snobby Bodrugan hounds--but he was so large and his ungainly invitations to play could be easily misunderstood by a creature as little as Caroline’s pug. 

Demelza just didn't have the strength for any more conflicts today.

“Shut in the parlour,” Ross said, then furrowed his brows looking her up and down. “You really should change out of your wet clothes…”

“The parlour?” she replied. “Oh no! He’ll shed all over the sofa or track mud on the carpet or…”

“Demelza, no need to worry. The guests are gone now...” Ross began but just then Caroline returned, Horace safely housed in a Gucci dog carrier bag that evidently matched his mistress’s umbrella. 

The pug peeked his head out of the top and gave a snuffle of disapproval.

“Shush, darling. We’re going home now.” Caroline zipped him in and the dog made no further complaint. “Okay, Ross,” she said, lingering on his name as though it was some sort of intimate secret. “I think we’ll use the kitchen and the library for the interior shots. The film crew will be here on Monday--we’ll have an early start and should be out of your hair by noon. Then, weather permitting, we’ll do outdoors--hops waving in the breeze, that sort of thing. Maybe you on a tractor?”

“The library?” Ross choked. “It's a bit of a mess, don’t you think?” He immediately shot Demelza a look of apology in case she felt he’d been critiquing her work. She took no offense--the library was one spot she rarely made attempts to tidy. It wasn’t just Ross’s clutter, the room still bore the remnants of Joshua as well.

“It’s very...period,” Caroline explained. “Couldn't look more authentic. We’ll just get rid of that tatty old chair--that's really the only anachronism.”

“My chair?” Ross asked.

“Just for the day,” Caroline sighed. “I know you didn’t ask me but for what it’s worth, you really should think about replacing it.”

Demelza laughed again. For whatever reason, she was finding she liked Caroline Penvenen. Maybe it was because she was so straightforward and said aloud what Demelza wished she could.

“Are you a professional filmmaker?” Demelza asked.

“Oh, not yet. I’m still a student--just finished my second year at Bristol and home for the summer staying with my uncle. I’m doing this project with Unwin for the experience and not the money,” Caroline said without bothering to explain who Unwin was.

Of course Caroline wouldn't need the money, Demelza thought. Still she knew Ross and Tonkin were paying an arm and a leg to have this promotional reel made, so someone was making a profit. Maybe it was this Unwin, whoever he was.

Demelza suddenly had an idea and without stopping to weigh its implications opened her mouth to share it.

“Caroline, when you and Horace are in the surgery next, you should ask Dr. Enys about a video project he’s doin’,” she said. 

“Oh? Is he?” Caroline smiled and her eyes snapped with excitement.

Ross cocked his head ever so slightly, not questioning Demelza’s judgement exactly, just wondering where she was going with this.

Demelza hoped she wouldn’t regret this. Surely Dr. Enys would appreciate the professional assistance even if it meant greater contact with Caroline. Wouldn't he?

“Well then, see you two on Monday. Demelza, you will be here, won’t you?” Caroline asked. 

Demelza was pleased to have been included and relieved that she too wasn’t anachronistic. 

“No need to see me out, Ross,” Caroline winked then retrieved her umbrella from behind the door, paying no mind to the massive puddle it had left behind.

“We’d better go help her, Ross,” Demelza said as soon as Caroline closed the door behind her. “I’m bettin’ her pretty car’ll be that stuck.”

“No doubt,” Ross sighed and fumbled for his boots. “But you’ll do no such thing. You stay here and drink your tea,” he said gently but firmly.

“Yes, Ross,” Demelza smiled.

Notes:

There is a painting by Paul Klee with a similar title, one of my favorites really. You can see it here:

https://www.wikiart.org/en/paul-klee/remembrance-of-a-garden-1914

Chapter 62: Jagged Edges

It had only taken him two good pushes to get the Porsche out of the mud and onto the gravel drive where its tires could gain some traction. Ross was wet--his shirt and his hair--but no more so than he already was. 

“I hope you know what you’re doing,” Ross said after Caroline had driven away. He’d rejected Demelza’s offer of tea and poured himself a small glass of whisky instead.

“What?” Demelza asked in a panic. Could he already know about the call she made earlier?

“Setting Dwight up like that with Caroline...” he explained.

“Oh, well, it’s not exactly a set up. He really does need the assistance. Emma and I are of no real help, I mean we know fuck all about editin’ and truly it would be a shame if his project fell apart. It’s such a good idea.”

“And Dwight’s feelings about the woman are of no consequence?” Ross laughed and sat down beside Demelza at the table.

“Has he said anythin’ to you? Caroline’s not so bad, really,” Demelza said. “Maybe a little...flirty...”

“A little?” Ross chuckled. “I’d have thought that would bother you more.” He took a drink from his glass and shuddered as it went down.

“Oh, no…” she smiled weakly but couldn't quite find the words to explain that she didn't find Caroline to be a credible threat. She just didn't feel it in her gut--where she’d certainly felt other things.

“Oh Ross!” she said. “Caroline left her portfolio behind. Should you ring her to come back?”

“No, she left that deliberately so we could see stills from other projects and get a sense of ‘Unwin’s vision’,” he said.

“Okay, I’m gonna ask...who the hell is Unwin? Am I supposed to know the name?”

Ross laughed and immediately Demelza flushed with embarrassment. She hated the feeling that everyone knew something she didn’t.

“Unwin, Caroline’s boss, is Unwin Trevaunance. John’s nephew…” he explained.

“Oh that isn’t awkward,” Demelza sputtered, nearly spilling her tea.

“I’m hoping it won’t be,” Ross said. “It was actually Tonkin who engaged him and John seems to harbour no ill will towards us and the future of Carnmore.”

“No, no he doesn't, does he?” She remembered how friendly he’d been when she and Dr. Enys had brought the weak calf to him just days before. Maybe the man was relieved to finally be rid of the yoke of debt Carnmore had brought him.

And why not? Surely it was possible to leave the past behind.

“Well, I’d better get movin’...” Demelza stood up and scanned the kitchen. Dishes were piled in the sink, puddles and mud from wet shoes marred the floors by the door. Their best towels were now dirty as well. She still hadn't seen the parlour to know if Garrick had expressed his resentment at being locked up by chewing a magazine or shredding a sofa cushion.

“Do you know when the Hendersons will be back?” she asked with a sigh. “They had said they wanted to do some sea kayakin’ but I can’t imagine they’d be goin’ far in this storm….”

“No, Demelza.” Ross reached for her arm and pulled her back down in her chair. “I told you. They’re gone...they’ve left for good.”

“What? Oh no, Ross!” she cried. “What about the income?”

“They’d already paid for the week and made it clear they expected no refund.”

“Did you know they were leavin’ us? Was it the house? Were they unhappy with the accommodations?”

“No, it was the rain, which wasn’t anyone’s fault. They wanted me to pass on how they’d enjoyed their stay in the house and that they appreciated your efforts in particular at making them comfortable. In fact, they left this for you.” He held up a bank note and smiled as her jaw dropped.

“Fifty quid? For me?”

“I think you deserve more than that considering how hard you’ve worked the past week. Unless you want to share it with Prudie,” he teased.

“Well, what about you? I mean it’s your house and you bear the brunt of the expenses when we have guests. Maybe put that money towards new towels or a new vacuum cleaner so that next time...”

“But remember, Demelza, the Hendersons were our last guests. I made you that promise. Or can you not trust me?”

“Of course, I trust you, Ross,” she said and swallowed hard. She did mean it. Didn’t she?

“Look, you’re shivering, Demelza. You should go have a hot bath now that our upstairs is free. I’ll do the dishes when I’m back from the hopyard,” he offered.

Demelza looked at him. 

Ordinarily a bath in his tub would have sounded lovely but now she didn’t want to be alone with her thoughts. A jagged feeling, an edge, seemed to be running through her body, settling in her arms and legs. What she wanted--what she needed--was to forget everything. To lose herself in sensation, in pleasure so she wouldn’t think at all. And she knew how to do that.

“No, Ross. If everyone is gone then please…”

“Yes?”

“I want to… Just take me upstairs,” she said with a dusky conviction that seemed to belong to someone else. She had no idea how alluring she was.

If Ross had been serious about going out to the hopyard, those plans were quickly abandoned. He took her hand in his and was on his feet without a moment’s hesitation.

--

Before Ross had even closed the bedroom door, Demelza began to undress. Her soaked top fell to the floor with a squish and when she struggled to tug her jeans down over her wet skin, her panties came off with them. She reached behind and unhooked her bra, then turned to face Ross, saying nothing but summoning him closer with a determined stare.

He removed only his shirt then couldn't wait any longer and guided her over on the bare mattress. Someone had already stripped the bed but neither of them seemed to notice or care. He crawled over her naked body with his own damp pants still on. He kissed her open mouth then pressed her to him.

“You’re so cold,” he whispered. Of course he meant her skin and not her manner.

“Warm me.”

He heeded her command and while he kissed her neck, he began to rub his hands up and down her arms, her ribs, her belly and her hips, but that wasn’t what she had in mind. She sat up and undid his zipper and peeled away his remaining clothes. His pants were barely around his ankles when she pushed him flat onto his back.

She knew he’d be aroused but just to be sure he was ready, she took him in her hand. He pulsed at her touch.

“Demelza,” he groaned and closed his eyes as she straddled him, her cool damp body over his twitching, eager one.

She was surprised at how warm he felt--hot really--and how wet she was already. She needed no further enticement--no sweetening, no play, no cuddles, or kisses. She guided him inside her and slowly sank down, savouring every second, every sensation. She gripped him with her inner muscles while her strong fingers splayed across his dark chest.

He reached for her breasts but she moved his hands to her hips and signaled the work she wanted from him. Again he obeyed and pulled her down while he thrust upward, following the rhythm she’d set.

Yes, she’d wanted to lose herself in the oblivion of pleasure, to go where there was nothing else that mattered. Nothing but the seeking of that perfect feeling. 

She’d been right to know where--how--she could find it. Every moment he was inside her, the jagged edges were being smoothed, the agitation evaporating. Something else, something soft and satisfying was taking its place, filling her toes and working its way up her body.

She could tell he was close--by the way his face contorted and by the electricity she felt pulsing from him, pulsing through her. She slowed just a little but did not loosen her body’s grip on him. She loved the feeling of his explosive release inside her and found it often was enough to spur her on to finish as well.

Her soft panting turned to sharp gasps and finally to a deep moan that seemed to come from deep within.

“Oh!” she cried and arched her back, one final move in her choreography of passion.

“‘Demelza...” Ross managed to find his breath.

She hadn’t let him go yet, but unable to control his hands any longer, he wove them in her hair and pulled her down so he could kiss her again. 

She liked how his wet lips felt on hers and she kissed him slowly several times, one kiss leading to another with no discernable breaks in between. 

“Yes Ross?” she said with a smile when she looked down into his dazed eyes, his flushed face.

“Good god,” he sighed, then laughed lightly. “Where did that come from? Never mind, don’t say a word. Just lie with me.”

“Yes, Ross,” she said again and put her head to his chest. She closed her eyes and listened.

There was a strange silence in the room and it took her a moment to realise the rain had finally stopped.  All she could hear was the gentle drip from the gutter outside the window and Ross’s heartbeat as it steadied.

My Ross.

She’d managed to beat back the beast of doubt but just how long would it stay away?

Chapter 63: Trust & Betrayal: Part II

“I don’t believe it,” Ross muttered as he set his mobile down on the desk.  He stared at it for a moment as if whatever news had disturbed him was still contained in the device and had not come from the words he’d just heard.

“Somethin’ amiss with Carnmore?” Demelza asked, stepping just inside the doorway to the library but no further.

“No, that was Elizabeth just now…”

“Oh,” Demelza said and looked at her feet. Time stood still for a moment until Ross spoke again.

He laughed and shook his head. He wasn’t really amused, just incredulous.

“Is everythin’...okay?” Demelza dared to ask.

“Yes or so it seems. My uncle is at home and resting comfortably...and you’ll never guess who has been staying with him?”

“Oh?”

“Verity. She’s been there since Thursday apparently. Mostly keeping Agatha company but still. She’s there. Despite everything, she came after all…”

“That’s good news?” Demelza hadn’t meant it to sound like a question. It was in fact good news, so why wasn’t Ross more pleased?

“Yes, well. I’m just surprised she didn’t tell us. Did you know about this?” Ross asked but before Demelza had a chance to answer, he went on, clearly trying to sort the jumbled facts laid before him. “What a risk she took,” he mused, shaking his head in continued disbelief. “I had advised her against it, not in so many words but...she was determined I suppose. Elizabeth sounded quite surprised. But it must have all worked out because Verity is still here, and my uncle seems to have welcomed her.”

“Yes, yes. So he did,” Demelza said softly and immediately felt her chest burning, the sting moving quickly south into her gut. 

Say no more, she thought. There was no reason why she shouldn’t lie. 

Her lip quivered and she knew that whatever resolve she had to keep things to herself, it was no use. Her distress must be legible on her face. But maybe Ross was too distracted to notice. She turned away quickly to give herself a chance to think but began to crumple over. She clutched her stomach and left the room.

She’d bought herself a little time. She took a deep breath and ran through the situation in her mind. The only people who knew her hand in this were Morwenna and Verity. Morwenna wouldn’t tell anyone--it was her mistake Demelza had covered up in the first place. And no doubt Morwenna had suffered enough abuse at the hands of the Poldarks that she wouldn't pull another down even if she was found out. 

And Verity? Verity didn't really know the full story nor was it likely she'd discover it for herself. She just knew what Demelza had told her--that the Trenwith Poldarks were short staffed and Uncle Charles’s return home was in peril if the carer situation wasn’t sorted quickly. And that they’d be grateful for help...for Verity’s help in particular. That last part was a bit of a stretch but not a complete fabrication--it would at the very least make Aunt Agatha happy.

Surely all those worries were moot now. Charles had welcomed Verity back, and so had Elizabeth, once she saw how her husband reacted. As Ross had just said himself, all was well that ended well, wasn’t it? 

But it was a lie.

Demelza looked out the kitchen window. A rainbow had spread across the sky and the eastern fields were dazzling gold in the sun. Such beauty would be forever worthless if she allowed her ugly lie to stand. It was enough to convince her of her mind, in case she’d been harbouring any doubts.

Slowly she walked back to the library. Ross hadn't moved from his desk where he was still engrossed in Carnmore business. He held a sheet of marked up paper in one hand and squinted at whatever was displayed on his laptop screen. From the look of consternation--and disgust--on his face, it seemed the two sources were not reconciling.

“Ross,” she said, forcing herself to look forward at him and not at her feet this time.

“Hmm,” he said but didn't look up.

“Ross,” she said again. 

Damn it! Look at me! she wanted to shout but swallowed instead. 

“I lied. I knew about it,” she said. “In fact, it was all my doin’...”

“What?” Now Ross did look up. He laughed lightly as though she’d said something he didn’t understand or wasn’t quite listening to. “Demelza, what are you talking about?” he asked.

“I rang Verity...I told her to come back to see her dad. That he needed her. You see, they--the other Poldarks--they didn't have a carer. It had all fallen through because of a mix up at the agency, never mind why, and I thought if Verity came now, they’d be so relieved for her help and for a solution fallin’ in their laps that they wouldn't turn her away. And they didn’t.” 

It didn’t sound so bad to Demelza when she put it into words. Well, except for the part about Verity taking such a risk--and possibly being misled.

“You what?” Ross asked again, unable to fully grasp what she was saying. “You told her they wanted her back? So not only did Verity walk into an emotional minefield going into that house but she now is charged with taking care of a cardiac patient as well? You know my uncle...I can’t imagine illness has made him more agreeable.” 

Of course Ross had been able to pinpoint the danger immediately.

“No, Ross. See Verity doesn't have to care for your uncle--Morwenna will do that.,” Demelza explained, hoping she could allay some of his worry--and undisguised distress. “She’s actually trained and everythin’...Verity is to keep Aunt Agatha company, like you just said she was doin’.”

“Morwenna? She’s involved in your scheme too? And my aunt? You’ve sorted everyone’s role here, haven’t you?” 

Demelza wasn’t sure she’d ever heard Ross use sarcasm with her--at her. Maybe once. The only other time they’d ever had a row.

“Well, they aren’t just relieved, they are grateful,” she tried again. 

Like I knew they’d be. Or hoped they'd be anyway.

“And you know this--that they are grateful--how?” He looked straight at her, his dark eyes narrowing, his mouth twitched angrily at the corners.

“Verity texted me last night. And Morwenna did as well.” She wanted to swallow her words but had enough pride to stare him and his terrible expression down.

“So everyone knew about this?” he asked.

“Not everyone. And with Morwenna--I was tryin’ to help her.”

He laughed--it was more of a huff of disbelief and displeasure than an actual laugh.

“I can’t believe you did this,” he said quietly but his anger was apparent.

“Ross…I didn’t think you...that you’d be so upset. I thought I was helpin’ and I...”

“Well?” he asked impatiently. “You ought to be pleased, then. You got what you wanted…” 

Was he really speaking to her just now? She’d never heard such a tone.

“No, I’m...I’m not happy about it exactly,” she tried to explain. “Oh Ross, I am sorry for how it was done.”

“How it was done…” he muttered, shaking his head.

“I mean, I can't stand that I’ve done somethin’ wrong,” she said. “So no. I’m not happy. I don't like makin’ mistakes.”

“Tell me, Demelza, is it that you don't like doing wrong or you don't like being called on it?” Ross said.

It was true. But it was delivered sharply and, as he’d no doubt intended, it hurt.

“I...I only…”

“Did you think it through at all? What if it hadn't worked? How might Verity have been destroyed by this?” He slapped his sheaf of papers down on the desk then rubbed his face with his hands. 

“Oh I know!” Demelza replied, eager to show him they did share a mutual concern. “I've been worried sick about that. She'd be heartbroken if your uncle had turned her away.”

“And yet you did this anyway?”

“But Ross! They have found some peace. Maybe even joy, it sounds like.”

“Elizabeth will be relieved,” he admitted.

Now a sudden anger flared up in Demelza that replaced her shame. She wanted to spit or maybe throw a vase at the wall. She hated that loyalty--that he cared about what Elizabeth was feeling. She could stomach his chastisement when it came from his concern for Verity, but when it was driven by his concern for Elizabeth.

Then again, Ross’s care for Elizabeth was what had fueled this whole debacle. 

“There's more,” Demelza said, standing upright as if she could possibly make her posture more stiff and formal. 

“What?” he asked impatiently.

“If I’m honest...I didn't just do it for Verity. I did it because…I thought if your uncle didn’t come home and there was more need for you at Trenwith, you'd be there more often. And that spendin’ all that time close with Elizabeth might…”

“Might what?” 

“Don't make me say it…”

“You seem to have started this whole conversation, Demelza.” The terrible expression was back. “You may as well see it through to its conclusion.”

Conclusion. Was this going to be the end? What did she think would happen after the stupid things she’d just said. But she’d resolved to be honest, so why stop now?

“I was worried that spendin’ time with Elizabeth, seein’ her vulnerable, knowin’ you could help and how you were needed, that you'd grow to love her again. I was... jealous.”

Jealous. It was such an ugly word. And in only a few days she’d brought ugliness into their world. Demelza had done that all herself, with no help from Elizabeth. She knew she had no one else she could blame.

Ross looked at her with thin lips. Neither of them needed to complete her train of thought. 

And if something happens to your uncle and then she's a free woman again…

He picked up his pen then tapped it on the desk a few times before he spoke. 

“I wouldn't have seen you as the jealous type, Demelza.” The anger was gone but crushing disappointment had taken its place.

“I never was before,” she said desperately. “My whole life other folks had things I didn't but I had no jealousy or envy,” she stammered. “Even when Jim took up with Jinny, I felt angry for a spell but not jealous. I guess I just never had anythin’ so valuable that I was afraid of losin’...not til now. And well, we never talked about it, but you can't hide you still have some sorta feelin’s for...her. So maybe I’m misguided or else maybe it’s a spot-on instinct…” That she managed to formulate and actually voice such an honest reflection was a surprise even to her.

“You always were incredibly perceptive.” He shook his head again. Was that another laugh?

“What's that supposed to mean?” she asked. If she were a cat, her fur would be standing on end, signaling her ready defense.

“That I like to help others--sometimes because it is the right thing to do and sometimes because it makes me feel important,” he said. “Then I can pretend I'm not a failure, with no future prospects, no goals…”

“A what? A failure? You?” she sputtered, defenses down at once. She took two steps towards him but didn’t dare reach out to come closer or to touch him. She couldn’t bear the rejection if he pulled away. “Ross? How could you think that? The hopyard, the brewery! Even the farm. You've done so much in just a few years. And with no help!”

“I had help,” he said softly and looked at her. The tenderness in those brief words took her breath away and gave her a flash of hope that she hadn't just completely destroyed their relationship.

“And you are right we never talked about it,” he said. “I do have feelings for Elizabeth still.”

And just like that the hope was dashed. 

Demelza felt as though a knife that had stabbed her long ago was only now being twisted in her gut.

“But not what you think,” Ross went on. “It's a fondness, an affection for a past we both shared. I harbour no bitterness anymore even though she hurt me terribly. And I won’t lie--I think she is beautiful…”

“Oh.”

“But no more so than a distant celebrity or someone who isn't actually part of my life or...someone real. And you should know, I wasn't lying to you or to myself when I said I loved you.”

Loved. Past tense. 

“Maybe you're right--Elizabeth likes to have others at her beck and call. She inspires people to bend over backwards for her and she takes pleasure at that. Perhaps she would try to take advantage of my desire to help the family. I can't really say,” he sighed.

“Oh?”

“Look, Demelza...I'm not happy about what you did. You have to know that,” he said. “It was sailing far too close to the wind with the affection of someone quite dear to me. But I also think you may be even less happy about it than I am. And your honesty--well, that's admirable and not at all surprising. But you also need to know it's still going to take some time before I can fully shake this off,” he said. “I feel...blindsided. And by you, of all people--that is a surprise.”

“Oh Ross. I never meant to mislead you. All I did--all I tried to do--was bring two people together who loved each other. And now have I really lost your trust?”

“I don’t know. I’d be lying if I said I did.” It was simply put. His turn for honesty now.

"Of course." She closed her eyes then turned without looking again at him and at his face. Still she could see it in her mind. His eyes burning with both anger and sadness, his mouth drawn out into a long slash--neither a smile nor a frown as he fought his own feelings, his own demons. 

But once she was in the hallway, Demelza leaned against the wall and bowed her head. Its weight was suddenly too much for her. Only then did she let crumble the iron posture her pride had allowed her to maintain. She clutched her arms around her middle and groaned, hot tears rolled down her face.

Scolded, like a child--not as a partner.

The last time she felt this terrible, this derailed and lost, had also been her own making. The only other time they’d quarreled. The same night they’d first made love in his truck. 

Oh Ross. What have I done? Have I ruined everything?

She needed to get out of there. To flee--not to her room but somewhere far. The rain had stopped, she could run outdoors, maybe go to the cliffs. Or better yet to the sea. She felt as though she could swim out against the tide and never stop until she met the horizon.

She wiped the tears away quickly and when she straightened up, she saw Ross standing behind her only feet away. She hadn’t heard him creep out after her. 

He said nothing, but in one strong and determined motion, he reached for her, pulling her into an embrace. She allowed herself to go--there was no resistance, only seeking. 

And as he held her head close against his chest, the tears returned. 

They could not be stopped.

Notes:

Ross describing his morphed feelings for Elizabeth comes from this little bit in Winston Graham’s beautiful The Four Swans:

“I am fond of her as a man is for a woman he once loved...The other evening I tried to make her think I still loved her – for in a way I truly do. But not in any way you need fear, my dear. Fifteen years ago I would have given the whole earth for her. And she hasn’t changed much, aged, coarsened, or become less lovely. Only I have changed, Demelza. And it is your fault.”

Also, you'll most likely recognize a few quotes humbly borrowed (with love and admiration) from Debbie Horsfield’s S1.7 script (‘All I did was bring together two people who loved each other' and 'Have I lost your trust? Is it forever?

Chapter 64: Bodmin Beast

“Where you been?” Prudie asked, walking through the kitchen door. She peered disapprovingly at Ross and Demelza over her favourite pair of oversized sunglasses. 

“You look like Lady Gaga with those on,” Demelza had once told her, to which Prudie had quipped back, “I was aimin’ for Jackie O!”

That Prudie was wearing them today was more about her own sense of style and less about actual necessity. The break in the rain earlier had been only a temporary reprieve and the downpour had once again resumed, this time accompanied by howling winds. There was no bright light or even faint glare to be found outdoors--and certainly not indoors--so Prudie’s dark glasses were an odd choice. 

But Ross had long ago given up trying to understand the woman.

“We have been here all day--or all afternoon anyway. And you?” He wasn’t doing a very good job of hiding his impatience. Usually Demelza would give me a look or even touch his hand if  in word or tone he was too cutting with Prudie, but tonight she was quiet.

Over the years Ross had come to learn there were several different ways Demelza was quiet. One sort--his favourite--was the Demelza who grew absorbed in a task or a book or even in her thoughts and just forgot to speak to anyone else in the room. Her face would twitch from time to time, her mouth moving to match whatever she was thinking, and when called back, she’d always smile and laugh and say something breezy like, “Well then, where’d I go just then?”

Of course there was quiet Demelza in the bedroom. One who could use her eyes or a touch to let Ross know what she felt, what she wanted. No words required.

There was yet another Demelza, not so much quiet but stone silent. When she got that way her eyes looked almost cloudy and tired, her mouth betrayed nothing. She didn't even twist her lips in that charming way she often did when she was puzzling something out. This was the Demelza who was either inwardly torturing herself or had shut down entirely to keep the dark thoughts at bay. Did she shut down to herself as well? Ross didn’t know because he’d rarely seen that Demelza and when he had, he’d usually been able to reach her, to shake her out of it.

And yet, that was who sat across from him at the table now.

Oh, she’d been polite--she wasn’t refusing to speak to him. But other than asking him if he wanted more red pepper flakes on his pasta and if John Cobbledick would be coming in early the next day, she wasn’t offering much in the way of conversation.

He understood, or at least he thought he did. There certainly had been times that words left him as well.

After their discussion earlier about Verity--and also ostensibly about Elizabeth--they’d sat together in the parlour for some time. Ross kept his arms around her while Demelza kept her face buried in his chest.  As the cold crept in, he had the idea to build a fire but she’d pulled him back. She didn’t say the words but he sensed she didn't want him to leave her side.

It hadn’t quite been a cuddle. Just an exhausted truce.

And it hadn’t really been just a discussion--she’d have called it a row--so just being together, touching, was a move forward in making things right again. 

Ross knew Demelza regretted what she had done or at least how she’d gone about it, and he was certainly sorry for the hurtful tone he’d taken with her. He knew this would take time to sort out but he felt impatient to have the comforts he’d grown accustomed to back in place post haste.

As she leaned against him, he felt how heavy she was with fatigue and other burdens. He kissed her temple, dragging his nose along her face and finally spoke.

“I need to go see to the…”

“Yes,” she’d said. “I have chores as well.”

“Demelza…” He’d wanted to tell her he loved her but worried that would sound like an easy way out, an empty phrase employed carelessly just to patch things up. He’d need to find a way to show her, to remind her, in case she’d ever had doubts.

“I’ll make us supper so don’t stay out too late?” She’d looked up at him, her eyes weary but soft. 

The tenderness and vulnerability in that one look had moved him. And frightened him.

I can break her if I’m not careful, he’d scolded himself.

That exchange had been almost an hour ago. Now they sat at the table together without much having moved forward between them.

“It’s about as lively as a funeral in here,” Prudie scoffed. “No, that ain’t exactly correct--some of the best parties I ever been to were wakes. When Char’s first husband died...that was a night to remember.”

“There’s enough pasta for you, Prudie,” Demelza said, rising from her seat. 

Ross’s eyes followed her as she moved around the kitchen. She picked up a cheese grater then put it down again.

“I got takeaway,” Prudie said and threw her wet raincoat on the bench without bothering to hang it on the peg.

Ross was about to ask if she’d thought to get enough for all of them but held his tongue. He was far happier with Demelza’s supper than whatever Prudie had in her greasy bag. He also knew Prudie had little tolerance for spicy food and wondered if Demelza had made tonight’s penne all'arrabbiata deliberately to drive Prudie from the table, or if she just had carelessly forgotten.

“How’d the appointment go?” Demelza asked. Ross noticed she wasn’t looking at Prudie either.

“Good enough as far as those things ever go. Doctor prescribed some new pills and some vitamins...also told me to take it easy and elevate my foot every day.”

“Of course he did.” Ross tried not to laugh. Prudie had been seeing the same doctor for her foot woes for years but only selectively heeded his advice. Staying off her feet and resting was religiously followed, but she somehow never remembered the parts about diet and exercise.

“Well, I’d better go do just that then,” Prudie said. 

“Good night,” Demelza said even though it was hours until bedtime. But she was just being honest--they all knew they wouldn’t be seeing Prudie again until morning.

---

“Leave the dishes,” Ross said after Demelza had cleared away most of the remnants of their supper. 

“Oh?” she said. The flatness in her tone wasn’t lost on him. Just a few days earlier she would have teased him--she had teased him in fact. He had promised to do the washing up before they went to bed but then had been distracted by her loving attention in the bedroom. The next morning he came down to see her elbow deep in a sink of suds as she scrubbed them herself.

“I...erm..,” he had started to apologise.

“That’s alright, Ross. You’ve earned your keep in other ways,” she’d winked.

Tonight she stood in front of the sink, running the tap but not rinsing the plate she was holding, as if she couldn’t make up her mind what to do next.

“Leave them,” Ross insisted. “Prudie can do them in the morning.” 

“I’ll just let them soak, maybe…”

“Come to bed,” he said.

She turned the water off but didn’t turn to face him.

“I better let Garrick out one more time.” Was she stalling?

“I’ll wait for you upstairs,” he added in case there was any doubt as to his intentions, his desires in such an invitation.

Once upstairs, Ross was struck by how chilly the bedroom was. It had been such a hot summer but the storms of the past week had erased almost all memory of the sunshine and warmth.

He considered building a fire in the cold bedroom hearth, an unusual activity for an August night. There was enough kindling and wood in the box in the corner but he’d need to search out some matches.

Would Demelza see a fire in the bedroom as just another gesture? An attempt at trite romance when what she needed was sincerity? He supposed it was at least better than lighting candles.

The whole house seemed to shudder as a strong gust slammed against it. The wind was coming from the west tonight and even this far from the sea, Ross could hear salt spraying the windows.

He sighed. They might be lighting candles after all, if the power went out. He went back downstairs to find matches and a torch with working batteries, just to be safe.

--

He’d been waiting in the dim kitchen for what seemed like hours but was only about ten minutes in reality, when the back door flew open.

“Oh Ross!” Demelza cried with a sense of desperation unlike anything he’d heard before. Perhaps she was still exhausted, drained from earlier. He’d always thought her so resilient but she could still be hurt. Of course there were some scars she bore that were less visible because they were so deep. Had he touched those today?

“What is it?” he asked hoping he didn’t sound impatient as he sometimes did when he was anxious.

“Garrick. He’s run off and I can't call him back. He gets so unhinged when there's been a storm and becomes muddled, unreasonable. I have to go search for him,” Demelza explained as she changed from her trainers into rain boots without looking down. When she’d seen she’d put the left boot on her right foot, she slumped as though she might cry.

Ross wasn't sure he was strong enough for more tears.

“You’ll do no such thing,” he said, stepping towards her. “This wind would blow you right away. I'll go--my voice is deeper.“

“So?” She shook her head in disbelief. Did she really have so little trust in him?

“So it will carry. If he hears you he might think it a great game whereas I…”

“Yes, he heeds you,” she sighed. “Well most times. I should come too though.”

“No, stay here in case he comes home on his own. If he does, text me.”

As soon as Ross stepped out into the driving rain, he understood at once it was a fucked situation. 

He circled around to the front yard and stopped. Garrick was nowhere to be seen. It was hard enough to see a black dog on a moonless night but in this storm it would be impossible.  

Good god--where might Garrick have gone? On some of his ramblings he’d gone north towards the adjoining Bodrugan property but other times he’d wandered towards the sea. Ross shoved his hands deeper into his coat pockets. One pocket held a small torch, the other his mobile. He wasn't sure either would be of any help to him. 

But no matter how long he’d need to search, he couldn’t return without the dog. He just couldn't let Demelza down.

Ross still had no sense of which way to go. He took a breath and held it. He smelled the air, he listened. 

In the end it will be the wind, won’t it? he thought. 

Garrick hated the wind. The cruel howl disturbed him. Just like it did his mistress.

He’ll go away from it.

Ross bent his head and started walking.

--

“Ross!” Demelza gasped. She was stooped over, trying to get some kindling in the parlour fireplace to light, but all she’d succeeded in doing was creating a great deal of smoke. 

He tried not to cough and stepped forward to give her a hand. After all these years, she still had not quite acquired the knack of starting a fire.

“Did you...where is…?” she asked. “I didn’t hear you come in.”

“It's all right. Garrick is back. I found him,” he said

“Oh, my sweet love!” she whispered and rose to her feet. 

For a moment Ross had hoped she was referring to him, but then saw she of course meant the dog. 

He could hear the wind roaring down the chimney so he suspected the flue was indeed open but he quietly checked nonetheless.

“Garrick’s in the kitchen with Prudie,” Ross explained, running a hand through his wet hair. He’d taken off his sodden shoes and socks in the kitchen but had still left wet footprints on the cold floor. ”He’s soaked and muddy but unharmed. I’m sure Prudie’s giving him a warm rub down or even a bath.” 

Ross used one of Demelza's horse magazines to fan away some of the smoke and help the flame to catch. He was going to ask her what inspired her to build a fire in the first place. Was she too looking to create a romantic ambience or was she just settling in for a stormy night in a cold stone house? 

Or was she avoiding joining him in the bedroom?

“I should go. Prudie had wanted to go to bed and he’s my dog after all,” she said. There was a slight reserve, a chill in her words, as though she was still defensively cordoning herself off from the others in the household.

“No, Prudie has risen from the dead,” he said. “She’s on her feet and seems to have it under control...Ouch!“  He winced and looked at the blood trickling down his wet sleeve.

“Ross? Your hand!” Demelza cried, unable to hide her concern. 

Just like that, the walls were down.

“It was only a gorse bush. I had to get Garrick’s collar unstuck.” He winced again.

“But it’s bleedin’. And it looks ghastly! Let me…” 

“I’m fine,” he insisted.

“Oh.” It had been no more than a gasp really, but he knew how to read the hurt and disappointment in only the one word. She could be so expressive that way.

“No, I mean you needn’t worry.” He sat down on the sofa before he held his hand out to her. “I rinsed it under the tap just now but perhaps it needs more…please take a look.“ 

It was going to take a lot of tenderness from him to make up for his earlier darkness. He wished it weren’t still his default setting.

“Oh.” This time it was breathy, soft, easy. She reached for his hand and gingerly turned it over to examine.

“If it pleases you,” he added and looked up into her eyes.

“Pleases me?” she laughed lightly. “Ross, how much pleasure am I to get from a fuckin’ gash?”  Returning his gaze, she managed a smile. 

Ross caught his breath at how welcome it felt. For a moment he forgot all about the smoke and the wind and even his wet clothes, his cold bare feet, and the stinging pain in his hand.

“Demelza,” he said and with his other hand pulled her down next to him.

“Yes, Ross?” she raised a playful brow.

“Maybe it does hurt, a bit?” He tried to play for sympathy and put his wounded hand to her lips.

“Oh Ross,” she laughed again and offered his hand a quick kiss. Then she shook her head, giving him her best ‘You’re a right idiot, you know ’ look. 

He playfully poked his tongue out between his lips before he laughed with her.  

Oh, it was so easy to be with her.

“So where was our Bodmin Beast? How did you find him?” Demelza asked, but she hadn't let go of Ross’ injured hand yet.

“I remembered what you said last time he ran off. That he’d gone south, almost as far as the turn off to Trenwith Road. There must be something under that gorse bush he really likes…”

“You remembered that?” she asked. 

“Yes.”

“I'll tell you what,” she proposed softly. “You go change your clothes--you’re absolutely soakin’ wet--while I’ll go look for some bandages. You’ll need more than just a plaster, I think. 

“Okay but I suspect you really just want to make sure Garrick is in one piece.”

“Yes, well…” she laughed. “Ross, do you think maybe you can fix that mess I made in the hearth? I promise I’ll come cuddle with you as long as the fire lasts.“

“Oh, my fires last,” he said.

“Isn’t that what all men claim but then they fizzle out after only a few minutes?” she teased. 

“Ouch. You’re worse than a gorse bush.”

“Also pour yourself a whisky. As your father used to say ‘A rainy day--like this--is the very reason whisky was invented in the first place’...”

“You remember that?” he asked amused.

“I mean, I remember you said it,” she said.

“I accept your deal, Demelza,” he laughed. “As long as your Bodmin Beast knows his place is on the floor and not on your lap.”

“Oh he’s my beast now? And you know I can’t promise that, Ross,” she winked and left the room.

The salvaged blaze was crackling steadily when Ross began to climb the stairs to change, but half way up, he paused to listen to the noises coming from the kitchen. The dog barked in excitement, probably when it saw Demelza, then Prudie began some sort of scolding tirade. Ross couldn’t make out the exact words that were said and didn’t strain to listen more closely. Demelza’s laugh, loud and bright, followed. Of course she’d once again been able to counter Prudie’s sourness.

Earlier the relentless wind had seemed so bitter and cruel. Now Ross felt it couldn’t touch him or the warmth he had in his home. 

Once in the bedroom, Ross pulled out his mobile. It would probably keep until morning but he didn't want to risk forgetting the idea that had just come to him. Technically it had been Demelza’s doing, something she’d said. 

He found Tonkin in his contacts and tapped out a quick text.

Found a name for the new IPA. See you tomorrow.

Chapter 65: Really Good Things

“Melza!” Geoffrey Charles called out as he clambered out of his booster seat. He had hardly waited for Verity to switch off the engine before he tried to sprint off. A soft clicking was still audible under the bonnet of the Audi she’d borrowed from her father for the day. 

“I hope you don’t mind that I brought him along,” Verity said. When she stepped out, she seemed out of scale standing next to the shiny sedan. Full size, it was much bigger than the little VW Verity usually drove that better suited her own diminutive height--and modest taste. Then again, nothing that belonged to Charles Poldark was small or modest.

“Poor Geoffrey Charles has been cooped up and trying his best to be quiet for his Papa, but not really succeeding. He looked like he needed an outing,” she explained.

Verity smiled and stretched her arms above her head, a gesture that made Ross wonder if maybe it wasn't just Geoffrey Charles who needed the diversion.

“Of course,” Ross said, giving her a kiss on the cheek and leading her towards the house.

“Hullo Uncle Ross!” the boy called over his shoulder and raced towards Demelza at work in the garden behind the kitchen. 

“Whatcha doing?” 

Geoffrey Charles bent so close to her, Demelza thought she could smell what flavour juice box the boy had had last.

“Well, since you ask, I’ll tryin’ to lay a bit of a path so that feet--little ones and big ones--don’t trample all over these plants,” Demelza replied, then with a smile, she picked the boy up under his arms and lifted him out of her thyme patch, setting him on one of the sections of old bricks she’d already laid in her best attempt at a herringbone pattern.

Geoffrey Charles thought it a great game and didn't really catch on that he should watch where he stepped. He hopped from one brick to another then back on to the herbs.

“I’m wondering, should I call you Miss Melza still?” he asked.

“Oh erm...I dunno. What do you think?” Demelza answered, hoping this wasn’t a trick question. These were rules she did not understand. She wondered if Verity was also expected to call Elizabeth Mrs. Poldark , the way Morwenna, her own cousin, did.

“Well I call Uncle Ross uncle so maybe I should call you Aunt Melza?”

“Or Uncle Demelza?” she teased trying to change the subject. She most certainly did not want it getting back to the Trenwith Poldarks that she’d been so elevated in the boy’s eyes. Had Geoffrey Charles heard others talking about her connection to Ross or had he come to that conclusion on his own?

“What if...” he began but then stopped to wipe his nose on his arm. Demelza pulled a semi-clean tissue from her pocket and handed it over to the boy. “What if I call you just Melza but only whilst we’re here at Nampara?” He seemed quite proud of the conspiracy he’d just concocted.

“That’s brilliant. Just Demelza it is,” she laughed. “Let’s go find the others, shall we?”

---

“My dear Demelza, you have infinite patience with children you know,” Verity said.  

They were leisurely walking northeast through the meadow towards the hopyard, taking advantage of the sunny afternoon. Geoffrey Charles ran ahead of them, occasionally demanding  one of them chase him. Demelza and Garrick were the only ones to oblige.

“Demelza has patience with everyone,” Ross said proudly. “Including me.”

“I was gonna say I learned it from years of goat tendin’ but I wouldn’t want you to think I was comparin’ you to a goat, Ross,” Demelza winked, then turned her attention to Verity. She clutched her arm as they walked side by side. “Oh Verity, do you really have to go back to Manchester so soon? You just got here.”

“It's been almost two full weeks. I miss Andrea, and our flat, and our cat…”

“In that order, I hope,” Ross laughed. 

“No, I miss James, our cat, more than the flat. By the way Demelza, Andrea told me she found that last video from the veterinary surgery on administering a pill to a cat quite helpful.”

“Oh she watched it? That one was hard to shoot--we had to do it in one take!” Demelza laughed and rubbed her hand along her scratched arm, a souvenir from one of her co-stars. Butternut, the ginger cat who lived at the surgery was usually a sweet tempered mush, but was having none of it on the day they filmed. Still Demelza had managed to pull off her lines with hardly a grimace.

“The other ones I saw were brilliant as well--you all look so professional,” Verity said. “Well done!”

“We have Caroline Penvenen to thank for helpin’ us get the video project off the ground. She’s the professional, we just do what she tells us to do. And then she does her post production magic. So far we’ve two completed and another two almost ready,” Demelza explained. “Caroline’s been tryin’ to convince Dwight to do a few more but I think she has ulterior reasons for wanting the project to continue.”

“I’ll bet she does,” Ross laughed.

“And your promotional reel, Ross? How did that go?” Verity asked.

“It’s done anyway. I think it looks contrived and ridiculous but Tonkin loves it,” Ross said.

“Don’t listen to him, it’s so lovely,” Demelza said. “It would make anyone want to drink a nice hopsy ale.” 

“Even you?” Ross teased. Demelza bit her lip and looked away without answering, working double time to suppress a giggle. Finally she punched him playfully in the arm. 

Verity laughed along then her face grew serious for a moment as her thoughts seemed to wander.

“So has your visit with your father and Elizabeth...gone well?” Ross dared to ask.

“Yes, better than I’d have hoped and I’m forever indebted to Demelza for that.”

“Oh, I…” Demelza stammered. Her risky gamble wasn’t something she wanted to talk about again. Ross might have forgiven her but it wouldn’t serve anyone to reopen that wound.

“But still, it's time to go. I’ve learned when to leave a good thing,” Verity said.

“What do you mean?” Demelza asked.

“Well, sometimes if a situation is going really well--a family visit, a holiday, even a job--you may think to yourself ‘It's never going to be better than this.’ So if you leave just then, at that perfect moment before things go downhill, your sweet memories will be unspoiled and well-preserved.”

“That doesn't sound too hopeful,” Demelza mused. “Shouldn't you believe things can always be better? I mean, even really good things?”

Instinctively Ross put his hand on Demelza’s back and gave it an affectionate rub. She leaned into his shoulder without saying another word, secure that he knew what was troubling her.

“Well, maybe not the most important things.” Verity smiled and looked at her feet. “Seems like someone’s having fun.” She pointed to Geoffrey Charles who now appeared to be chasing a butterfly, Garrick running at his side barking his assent. 

“Whoa!” the boy cried in amazement when he saw the old blue tractor lumbering along in the distance, driven by John Cobbledick.  “Can I really ride on your tractor Uncle Ross?” he asked.

“No,” Ross laughed. Gentle but firm. Demelza was impressed but then again, Ross had always been dead serious about safety.

“That may be the first time anyone has told him no,” Verity laughed. “I’m not surprised Geoffrey Charles hasn't gotten bored yet. He’s so content and independent when he’s here.”

“There’s a lot to explore,” Demelza said. “Even human animals like to run free from time to time.  It must be a big change for him, compared to…I mean...I’m not judgin’, of course.”

“Oh I agree wholeheartedly, my dear,” Verity laughed again. “My little brother is spoiled and I don't suspect it will end anytime soon. And strangely it’s not just from his parents…”

“What do you mean?” Ross asked.

“Well, others--business acquaintances or friends--have been more than generous with the boy as a way of currying favour with his parents. George Warleggan for example…”

“Is Warleggan a friend or is he a business acquaintance?” Ross asked sourly.

“Both it seems,” Verity said. “When my father was in hospital, George showered Geoffrey Charles with all sorts of toys and video games and even took him to see a football match. Now he’s even called Uncle George.”

I always win when I play Xbox with my uncle…Demelza swallowed hard, recalling what Geoffrey Charles had told her weeks before. Oh, she'd gotten that one wrong!

“And which of Geoffrey Charles’s parents is George trying to win over?” Ross’s question was delivered even more sourly than his previous one. 

Demelza slipped her hand in his and he gave it a gentle squeeze in return.

“I can’t believe George would be so brazen but his undisguised admiration for Elizabeth does make one wonder,” Verity said. “You know he had a fellow from his building crew come by to do some repairs on the house, too.”

Let me guess..clogged gutters, overgrown patio blocks, loose shutters, Demelza thought. She knew she should feel relief but she almost wished she hadn't been mistaken. If it had been Ross who made those repairs, he’d at least have felt good about his standing in the family. Now he was bitterly resenting Warleggan and his interference.

“I’m sure your father appreciated it,” Demelza tried to steer the conversation away from Elizabeth and what she would have thought.

“Yes, it was a kind gesture but…” Verity said, then left her thought unfinished after noticing Ross’s dark expression. “Come, let’s forget George Warleggan. Tell me, when are you two coming to visit us in Manchester?”

“Soon, I assure you,” Ross said.

“Oh Ross! Can we really?” Demelza danced on one foot. They’d talked about it before in the abstract but hadn’t moved forward with any real plans.

“Yes, I was thinking as soon as your internship at the surgery is completed but before the school term starts again.”

“And before the Bodmin Beer Festival,” Demelza said. “Ross is debuting a new IPA and it’s expected to get all sorts of awards,” she explained proudly.

“Yes, Ross told me all about Bodmin Beast, ” Verity smiled.

“Oh no, Ross! The hops!” Demelza cried. “We can’t go then--what about the harvest? That’s exactly our busiest time.”

“Oh yes, the harvest--you’re right. Never mind, then,” Ross teased.

“Ross!” Now it was Verity's turn to punch her cousin in the arm.

“Ouch, I’m outnumbered and out flanked,” he laughed a deep chuckle to put them both at ease. Demelza and Verity were the two people in the whole world who knew and loved Ross best. 

“So?” Verity asked with feigned impatience.

“I believe I can be spared one weekend. We’ll have extra hires for the harvest as it is and John can oversee things in my absence. Of course he might have to miss church on Sunday, so I suppose I’ll be answering to Mrs. Cobbledick for that.”

“Brilliant,” Verity sighed. “I can’t wait for you to spend more time with Andrea and to show you our flat and…”

She didn't have to complete the sentence. Both Ross and Demelza understood Verity was proud of the quiet life she’d fought so hard for. Of course she’d want to share it. 

No one likes to hide their love in the shadows.

----

“Ross?” Demelza whispered as she rolled over closer to his pillow.

“Yes?” Ross smiled, amused, but didn't open his eyes. 

She’d whispered because she thought he was asleep and didn't want to wake him. But something was clearly on her mind to keep her up so late into the night. He wondered if she would have let it go if he had been asleep.

“You did really mean what you said about goin’ to Manchester. Didn’t you?” Her voice was still low and soft. He sensed she was hesitant to even ask.

He opened his eyes to see hers looking intently at him. Even in the dark he could see them shine.

“I did, but I thought you were asleep just now,” he said gently. “Why bring this up now?”

“Oh I was but then...It's only, well, if it weren't goin’ to happen, then I wouldn't want to mislead Verity and let her think it really was.” 

He heard her swallow hard.

“You're worried about Verity? You think I’m misleading her? That I’ll somehow let her down?” Ross laughed lightly. “Have you so little faith in me and my promises?” He searched for her hand under the sheet and took it in his. Her skin felt soft and warm.

“No, no, it's just that sometimes things--the world--can get in the way of our plans if we’re not careful and not really committed…”

“I’ll book the flight tomorrow, if that suits you, Now go to sleep.” He kissed her forehead just to let her know he was neither teasing nor cross.

“Flight?” She sat up at once. “Oh, we’re flyin’?!” 

Ross felt her toes wiggle under the sheet.

“Quickest means of travel and if we’re so pressed for time with our busy schedules here, yours and mine, then why not?” he explained.

“Yes, yes, I do see that. It’s just that I haven't flown since I went to Spain--well, only time I ever did,” she laughed.

“Well, consider it practice before you go fly off to some distant corner of the world,” he said.

“When would I be doin’ that?” she asked.

“Next year.”

“Distant corner of the world?” she scoffed. “Hardly, Ross.” She gave another dismissive sputter. “What makes you think I’ll be goin’ anywhere at all? In fact, maybe I’ll go to Truro College or Penwith, they have an applied sciences programme in Biology.” Her words, rapidly fired and a bit defensive, had been practised in her head, perhaps for some time. Like she’d been trying to convince herself they were true.

“But not veterinary science?” he asked with a gentle firmness to let her know he already knew the answer to the question.

“Yes, but...it would be a start. And close enough that things wouldn't have to change here. Or maybe I‘ll do a course at Falmouth University? Or Plymouth--that’s not too far…”

“Is that what you want?” he asked, searching her face again. She was purposely avoiding his eyes.

“I don't know what I want!” She flopped on her back, the excitement she was exuding just seconds before was gone. “Tell me Ross, how is it possible to want so many things that...conflict with one another?”

“It’s human nature, my love,” he said and took her in his arms. She rested her head on his chest and let out a long sigh. 

He felt her body relax as she inhaled and he was pleased he could offer her the comfort she sought. Silently, they stayed that way for a few moments. Outside the open window, a chorus of night insects sang. They didn't quite sound like crickets. Maybe stag beetles.

“Maybe I should do a gap year,” Demelza said suddenly.

“What?” It wasn't really the words that concerned Ross but her tone. It almost sounded defeated. “Why do you say that?” he managed to ask in a measured manner.

“Gives me more time to earn money...I’d still have to start the application process this autumn but then I’ll have just a little more time before I actually start…”

“No,” he said firmly and pulled the sheet up over them both, tucking it under her exposed arm. As a protective gesture, it was not so subtle.

Sometimes Ross felt himself stumbling at the intersection of his undying confidence in Demelza and his hardened attitude towards the world. He had no doubt she could do it--she had the work ethic, the ability, the willful determination--but knowing the world as he did, he also wouldn't be surprised if some unnamed thing beyond her control cruelly got in her way somehow. But he could never voice this to her. In fact, he found himself easily irritated in moments, such as now, when she sold herself short.

Earlier that very week she’d said something similar. “If I don't end up gettin’ a degree, I can always work the desk at the surgery…” It was so breezily delivered as she slipped on her boots before walking out the kitchen door.

“Don’t say that!” Ross had snapped but she hadn’t really heard him and happily went out to the stables and the tasks awaiting her there. He meant to follow it up but hadn’t.

And yet what if she had been right or at least just been honest about the possibilities? Was it wrong for her to have a backup plan? At the time he’d thought it might be better if he said nothing at all. Maybe just vow to be there along the way to support her no matter what happened. 

But not now. Tonight he felt he needed to step in.

“No,” he repeated.

“No?“ she laughed waiting to hear his reasoning.

How to phrase it? Of course a gap year made tremendous sense for her. Ross dreaded the idea of Demelza going far away--it was something he didn't really allow himself to think about really. But he worried that if she took any extra time before starting university or any programme, too many other obstacles would rear their ugly heads. Her family, especially her father, had a knack for coming out of the woodwork at inopportune times demanding money. No, anything extra she earned in a gap year she’d just as likely end up losing.

Ross also feared she’d lose her nerve. Or worse, come up with a hundred reasons not to go--98 of them valid--when in the end if she stayed, she’d be staying for him. He couldn’t have that on his head.

“Demelza, my love,” he started. “You've so much momentum now. Don’t lose that.” 

It would be so easy to lose.

Chapter 66: The Pleasure of Competence

“Who this be then?” Prudie said, watching the olive green Mercedes estate come rolling into the Nampara yard. She shaded her eyes against the sun, setting but still brilliant.

It had been hot all week and most likely it wouldn't be cooling off anytime soon, not even after the last wisps of daylight faded away. Demelza set down the plastic pail she’d been carrying and wiped her hands on the jeans that stuck uncomfortably to her skin. She’d learned it was better to cover her legs when working in the pens no matter the heat, but she was itching to strip it all off and take a cold shower. She had hoped that Ross would get back from Truro early enough that they might go for a swim in the sea, but it was growing late and the tide was already in.

“The question is what does she want with us?” Demelza said and twisted her lips. She knew the old car and its driver. 

“Prudence,” Constance Bodrugan peered through her rolled down window and nodded in what passed as a polite gesture. “And where is your…ah, good,” she sighed with relief when she saw Demelza step out from behind the rusted partition separating the machine side of the shed from the storage area.

“Good evenin’, Mrs. Bodrugan,” Demelza said, trying her best to sound friendly without coming across as terribly fake. In the end what she managed wasn’t bad but she sounded an awful lot like Elizabeth Poldark. She almost shuddered at the thought.

“Hmm,” was all Mrs. Bodrugan said. Demelza guessed that meant the greeting had been accepted.

“What can we…?” she stammered. What to say? Demelza hadn’t spoken to their neighbour since the night they transported the weak calf to John Trevaunance’s farm, and while she really wanted to ask what fuck the woman was doing there, she didn't think that would be well received.

“Dear Demelza, please do come with me. We’ve a bit of a situation at Werry House and Choake won't come out.”

“Oh erm...is it one of your cows?” Demelza asked, immediately on guard. That she’d just called Demelza ‘dear’ meant the woman must be desperate. “You know I’m not an actual employee of the surgery? Can Dr. Enys maybe…” She regretted the words as soon as they’d come out. She knew Dr. Enys had a dinner date that night and she would have hated if it were interrupted at her suggestion.

“No, he’s not reachable either, I'm told,” Mrs. Bodrugan said with mild disgust and Demelza sighed in relief. “You see it’s my Titus…” Mrs. Bodrugan went on.

“What the hell is mititus?” Prudie muttered to Demelza.

“Titus is one of her dogs,” Demelza laughed. 

“My best and oldest King Charles,” Constance sniffed as though she'd been paid a great insult. “He’s in an awful state.”

“Oh?” Demelza asked. “There’s an emergency vet in Camborne…”

“No no. No need for that. I watched your video and know you can do it.”

“Video? Oh erm…which one?”  No, no, please not that one… Demelza closed her eyes and made a secret wish but should have known luck was against her. 

“You know, back there…the glands.” 

Of course.  

Expressing anal glands was Demelza’s least favourite of all the basic pet care tasks they’d filmed. Even though she’d done her demonstration on a plasticine model and not a real dog, it was still unpleasant to even go through the motions. Thankfully she’d no personal experience with such a task--Garrick never had such problems. 

“Not all breeds do,” Dr. Enys had explained to her. “Mostly spaniels, basset hounds, beagles, sometimes miniature breeds like poodles or chihuahuas.” So perhaps it was Garrick’s very mongrel makeup that contributed to his health and heartiness. 

Demelza felt like she learned so much from Dr. Enys every time he opened his mouth. He really seemed to take the learning part of her internship seriously, whereas Choake just saw her as cheap labour. In fact, Choake almost never spoke to her at all, he only occasionally deigned to grunt some orders for her to clear up or empty the bins.

Now Demelza stared at Mrs. Bodrugan, trying to process what was being asked of her. Come to think of it, it hadn’t been an ask at all. More of a command, really.

“What about Ned? Surely he could…” Demelza remembered the kind livestock manager the Bodrugans employed.

“He’s in Liskeard with Hugh looking at a prize Crabbet stud for our Lady Harriet…”

“Lady Harriet? Who that be?” Prudie whispered, once again too loud.

“A horse…” Demelza muttered. 

One worth more than all of Nampara most likely.

“Well?” Mrs. Bodrugan asked impatiently.

Demelza stood frozen with her mouth slightly agape. She just didn’t know what to say.

“Alright, as your neighbour, I'll come. But can give me a few minutes to finish up here?” she finally managed to speak.

“I’m not waiting round!” Constance scoffed. “Well, whenever you do arrive, come through the back entrance. Titus is in the kitchen.”

“Just go now, with her,” Prudie said, practically pushing Demelza towards Mrs. Bodrugan’s car. “I’ll finish up here. Text me when you’re done an’ one of us will come get you. It’ll be too dark to walk home. Go on then…”

-----

“Thanks for the lift,” Demelza said when Prudie picked her up later that evening.  “But I could have asked Mrs. Bodrugan to take me home or I could have walked, you know.” That last line was a tease--she knew how even the suggestion of walking after dark would incense Prudie. 

“You could not and I wouldn’t trust that boozy ole lady behind the wheel after 10,” Prudie snorted as she drove the Mondeo the long way around from Werry House. Although the Poldark and Bodrugan properties touched, the distance by road between the two houses was almost two miles.

Demelza smiled. 

It was the perfect cover for Prudie. She pretended to be wildly inconvenienced having to collect Demelza, when secretly she enjoyed driving the country roads, especially in the summertime. But now as she huffed and puffed, she could focus all her ire at Constance Bodrugan, a more deserving target than Demelza.

“It’s not nearly 10 yet,” Demelza laughed. “Ross still isn’t home?”

Poor thing, he hates those long evening meetings, she thought. I hope he at least got dinner.

“No, he isn’t. But what about you, girl? You worked a full day before Constance waggled her finger and demanded you do her biddin’. Did you at least charge her?”

“No, of course not,” Demelza replied. “I’m not a professional nor was I pretendin’ to be one. You are right, though--I am exhausted. I think it’s the heat. And I forgot how that house stinks.”

“Why didn't you tell her to piss off?” Prudie asked.

“I couldn't do that, no matter how awful she and her stepson are--she’s our neighbour, Prudie,” Demelza tried to explain. “Besides I don’t know the rules about these things--how exactly is one to be mannerly and still not get pushed around?”

“What a load of rubbish!” Prudie huffed. “You've known yer own mind since the day you set foot here at age 11!”

“I was 13, not 11,” Demelza laughed. “Maybe I’m losin’ it, my mind that is.”

“No, yer just gettin’ too proper. Worried about bein’ mannerly, are you now?”

Demelza laughed then grew silent.

“What’s botherin’ you now?” Prudie asked. “You use the wrong spoon at tea?”

“Tea? Need I remind you why I was there? No..it’s just…I don’t think Titus is quite all right--I mean I'm pretty sure I did my job properly, but there shouldn’t have been any blood…”

“I don’t want to hear about the gory details, girl! If you choose to stick your hand up some beast’s arse, keep it to yerself.“

“Yes, sorry I forgot about you and blood,” Demelza managed a light laugh. She hadn't even said anything about how particularly smelly her task had been. “I mean he just didn't look right, he was listless…is that the word I want? I told Mrs. Bodrugan that he’s most likely got an infection but she sorta waved me away. Choake is comin’ in the mornin’ and can give him an antibacterial treatment, so that’s a relief…”

“You worry too much, dear Demelza,” Prudie laughed. “I’m sure you were brilliant and ole Constance should be pleased. ‘Course now the whole neighbourhood will know yer at their beck and call, every time a cat sneezes or a ferret has a toothache.”

“Well, I’m just happy I could help. It does feel good to be…competent at somethin’!” Demelza said. 

“You say that like I wouldn’t know the feelin’,” Prudie teased. “Nah, you should be proud of yerself. T’was a triumph, then.”

“That’s a bit of a stretch,” Demelza said. “But Prudie, let me tell Ross about it all? He’ll be home so late and really, it’ll keep til tomorrow. Tonight all he’ll hear is that I went to Werry House and he won’t appreciate just what sort of triumph it was.”

--

When Ross tiptoed into the dark bedroom it was almost eleven. He sighed with relief when he saw the lovely--and familiar--outline under his sheets. It had been weeks now since Demelza had slept in her barn room. He hoped she’d never return to it.

Her hair, spread around her, was damp, perhaps from a pre-bedtime shower. One arm was thrown over her head on the pillow and her lips formed into a gentle, unwavering smile. It was as though she’d lain down thinking of something happy and then froze that way. He didn’t dare wake her, but he was glad to have her presence there all the same. 

He stripped off his clothes and carefully climbed in next to her.

He had much to tell her but it would keep until morning. It had been a long evening, another meeting with the Carnmore solicitors. They did this from time to time, even when there weren’t any pressing legal issues, and tonight Tonkin hadn’t seemed bothered by any updates the legal team had prepared for them. But when they mentioned a recent sale of the property adjacent to the brewery, Ross felt something in his gut, a worry as yet unnamed. Or maybe it did in fact have a name since Warleggan Developers had been behind the land purchase. Maybe it was nothing but it felt a bit too close.

He wished Demelza was awake. Even though she knew little of the business end of Carnmore, she knew Ross, and would be able to say the right things to calm him or ask him the right questions to allow him to fully reflect on his feelings. She also had good instinct when it came to others and their motives. She might see the good in everything but she also knew who not to trust.

At least tomorrow was a hopyard day for Ross. No Carnmore, no solicitors, and no Warleggans to interrupt him. It was where he still felt he did his best work. He’d already decided that Demelza should stay behind tomorrow and rest. Her summer holiday was coming to a close soon and even if she’d never admit it, she needed some leisure time. 

He gently kissed her shoulder, then settling next to her, closed his eyes. And before he started to drift asleep, he felt a smile of contentment forming on his face as well.

Notes:

Yes! Vet “how to” videos are a real thing and not something from my imagination. Super indebted to these good folks for the inspiration:

https://www.hawthornvets.co.uk/home

Chapter title comes from this passage in Richard Powers’s novel Bewilderment: “In the auditorium, I felt the pleasure of competence and the warmth that only comes from sharing ideas. It always baffles me when my colleagues complain about teaching. Teaching is like photosynthesis: making food from air and light. It tilts the prospects for life a little. For me, the best class sessions are right up there with lying in the sun, listening to bluegrass, or swimming in a mountain stream” (66).

I have to admit I haven't read the book (yet!) but I love everything about this.

Chapter 67: Run

Ross wiped his brow with the bottom of his t-shirt. The late August sun that had taken up residence after weeks of rain was overpowering, and all morning it had been an unending battle with the sweat rolling down his face. If left unattended, it would sting his eyes yet he hated stopping work and upsetting his rhythm for even a moment, and less importantly, now his shirt was filthy. His hair, his arms, shirt were all uncomfortably soaked with perspiration, but Ross had no cause for complaint. The change of weather was good for the hops and any worry he’d had of root rot or cone mould could now be discounted.

In fact he quite liked what he saw in the hopyard. The light yellow-green bracts clung less tightly to the cones and were beginning to relax. Still, he knew not to get too confident--anything could still happen in the weeks leading up to harvest.

John Cobbledick, trusty or maybe just predicable, shouted out from across the yard. Ross couldn't make out what the man was saying, but guessed it was some sort of joke, most likely off-colour. With a name like Cobbledick, the man had been the butt of many jokes so over the years he’d learned to dish them out before he got served himself. John revved the tractor engine as if it were the punchline and looked to Ross for a laugh. Ross gave a weak smile instead.

He felt his mobile buzz in his pocket, then buzz again. It wasn’t a text--someone was ringing him. Half expecting bad news and half annoyed to be interrupted, he sighed. Today’s labour was hard enough but better to just get on with it. Stopping for a break just made it worse.

He looked at his mobile then froze in alarm. 

She never rang. Never. Something must be amiss.

“What’s the matter? Where are you?” he said without any sort of greeting. Surely she knew by now that beneath the gruff, there was of course care. 

“I know you’re busy, Ross, but can you come collect me?” Demelza’s voice wobbled just a bit.

“Yes...where are you?” he repeated. It wasn’t a day she was at the surgery. While he spoke, he was already walking back towards the house, where he thought she’d been this whole morning. If he took the tractor it would be faster but unseating John and disrupting his work didn't seem like the best idea. 

“At the fence,” she said.

“The fence?” he asked. “The one that separates our land from Bodrugan’s?” He needn't have asked. Other than the animal pens behind the barn, it was the only fence on the whole of the Nampara property.

“Yes, maybe it wasn’t the smartest way but I needed to get out of there quickly…and I just thought if I started walkin’…”

“You went back there?” Ross sputtered. “To Werry House?”

“Yes but it’s not what you think. She--Mrs. Bodrugan--needed my help but never mind, it’s a long story. Look, I wouldn't have rung but…”

“Are you hurt?” He instantly imagined all manner of situations that might render her unable to walk the distance from the northeast meadow. 

“No…” she said. “I just need wire cutters.”

---

Ross marched with long strides across the yard, trying to piece a plan together in his head, when he saw Prudie emerging from her car. On each of her arms--at the elbow really--she wore Tesco carrier bags as if they were designer handbags. When he saw her fingers she held splayed out in front of her he understood. She’d just had a manicure.

Ross rolled his eyes at the bright turquoise nails embedded with rhinestones. Not exactly practical for a housekeeper.

“What’s your rush then?” she asked. The wrong words at the wrong time. 

Ross thought his head was going to explode.

“Bodrugans'!” Ross sputtered. “And you let her go there?!"

“Oh c’mon, Mister Ross! When was the last time Demelza listened to me? Or anyone, fer that matter? She went last night on her own accord but I do swear I didn't know she went back there this mornin’...”

“Last night? What was she thinking?”

“Maybe you better ask her. No doubts she has all sorts of thoughts ‘bout it and anythin’ else she does, if you’d only ask her.”

“What’s that supposed to mean? You think I don't talk to her? That I don’t listen to her or care about her feelings?”

“Oh, off with you, then. Go see what’s amiss--she wouldn’t have asked you unless she was in a bad fix.” Prudie waved him away and continued to mutter under her breath something that sounded to Ross like “Enough ’bout you and yer feelin’s…”

Rudely put perhaps, but Prudie was right. He needed to put his own worries aside and get on with it. Demelza was asking for help, and that was in fact a rarity.

He located a pair of wire cutters on a hook in the shed, then moved briskly towards the stable.

---

“Oh Ross, you’ve come!” Demelza called out to him in surprise. “And you took Adele?” She laughed. As he got closer, he was pleased to see her smile, although it didn’t last long. And he wasn’t sure if her tone of surprise came from his mode of transport or that he’d come at all.

She’d been sitting in the tall meadow grass, leaning against one of the posts on the Bodrugan side of the fence. She held a few wild flowers and was absently plucking off the petals one by one. 

On a happier day she’d have tucked them in her hair, he thought.

Her cheeks looked pink. He wished he’d thought to bring a bottle of water for her--she looked as though she was wilting fast.

“You need a hat in this sun,” he gently admonished her as he dismounted. A friendly tease--one she often used on him. 

“I’ll remember next time. That and my white gloves,” she said. “Shit! My bicycle! I left it at Werry House!“

“I’ll drive over and get it later,” he offered calmly.

“Okay. You brought the wire cutters?”

“Yes, I did but I’m shocked you didn't try to climb over this,” Ross said surveying the newly erected fence that seemed to go on endlessly in either direction. He wondered on what occasion--or for what reason--Hugh had it installed. “Since when does a little flimsy wire fence slow down the fearless Demelza Carne?”

“It’s not as flimsy as it looks and just a little too tall to climb over,” she sighed, sounding anything but fearless. She looked up at him through the mesh and he saw her eyes. Tired for sure but defeated as well.

It wasn’t much more than a reinforced garden fence of galvanized steel, but the thick wooden posts were embedded in concrete, adding an additional layer of rigidity. And as she’d observed, it was just tall enough to be an effective warning to all beasts--including humans--that it would not be easy to breach.

“I think if you snip here and here at the top, we can fold that part back with minimal damage,” she suggested. “I can just slip over then, if you help me down, and it will still be effective at keepin’ our goats away, if that was the intention.” She’d given this some thought. Of course she had.

“I’ll have John come back tomorrow and do a proper repair job,” Ross said reassuringly. ”No one will ever notice unless they got up close.“ 

“Good. I don't want to be blamed for anythin’ else…”

Blamed? He let that go, knowing she’d explain when she’s ready. Instead he followed her instructions and got to work, clamping down on the mesh at the places she’d indicated. 

The coated wire was a bit tougher than he’d anticipated so it took some time and force to make the necessary cuts. Ross regretted at once not choosing the larger bolt cutters or thinking to bring work gloves. A blister was already forming on his palm. 

While he laboured, Demelza watched him anxiously, biting her lip and occasionally glancing over her shoulder, eager to make her escape. 

As soon as Ross made the final incision, she was already scrambling to get over. He took her hand first and then reached for her around her waist, lifting her whole body and swinging her down to the ground. They both were damp with sweat but he pulled her close and wrapped his arms around her, allowing her to rest her head against his chest. He still didn’t know what had happened that morning but he sensed what she needed at that moment was not grilling, but comforting. 

“Okay, my lady, your mount awaits you,” he finally said and kissed her forehead.

“What about you?” she asked.

“I’ve legs and will happily walk beside you. Or behind you as you are bound to leave me in your dust.”

“Uh...but I promise I won’t…” She swallowed hard. Something about his last words had upset her. “Can’t we…”

“Yes?’ he asked.

“Can’t we ride together again? I know I’m bigger than I used to be…but maybe just this once?”

The meadow seemed particularly quiet as they traveled southwest back towards the house. Earlier on Ross’s ride out, it had been abuzz with bees and chirping insects, the hum of the tractor and even the cry of gulls could be heard in the distance. Now it seemed all the world had shushed itself in their honour. It made for a solemn procession.

Demelza sat behind Ross, just as she did all the times they rode together when she was younger. Only now she had a physiological justification. 

“Better for a horse’s lumbar region if the smaller rider is in the rear,” she’d explained. 

After a few awkward paces, she’d settled in, holding tightly to Ross with both her arms and her legs--longer and stronger than the last time they’d done this. He kept the reins but she couldn’t help giving Adele vocal cues that the horse seemed to prioritize over Ross’s commands. 

Ross laughed, knowing how Demelza had always hated ceding control, and despite her low spirits, today was no different. As they’d hoped, Adele took the weight of the extra rider in good spirits and assumed a steady walk. Ross wanted to keep her slow, for Demelza’s safety. He took some comfort in her arms wrapped around his torso but felt he was holding his breath with every step. Whatever went wrong today would only be made worse if she fell from the horse.

“If you’re so nervous, Ross, then we should go faster,” she said, reading his hesitation. “Don’t laugh, it makes sense.”

“Oh?”

“Well Adele will like it better for one thing--she can’t make heads or tails out of why she has to go so slow. That’s not really her nature, is it?”

“Adele’s nature?” he laughed.

“Then the ride will be over quicker that way too. And you don’t want her to pick up on your anxiety, do you? Horses do that--they sense their riders emotions, like fear. That’s why you should never ride a horse when you’re angry. Dr. Enys told me that.”

“They are perceptive, like you,” Ross said.

“Now you’re comparin’ me to a horse?”

He couldn't see her face but knew she was smiling.

“I seem to recall you compared me to a goat, just the other day,” he teased. “But yes, you are like a horse--clever, sophisticated…” he began.

“Hardly,” she scoffed. “Oh Ross, you have no idea how I fucked up today!”

“Do you want to tell me about it?”

“No…but I will. But let’s get home first.”

At that, Ross allowed the horse to move into a canter. Demelza was right--the sooner this ride was over the better. His fears were no longer about Demelza falling but for the self-torture she was clearly administering without restraint.

-----

That morning without invitation, Demelza had taken her bicycle back to Werry House to check on Titus, and when she arrived, Dr. Choake was there as she’d expected him to be.

She certainly hadn’t expected he would shower her with any praise--or even acknowledgement--for her attention to the dog the night before, but she did not expect to be met with such undisguised contempt.

“You had no right to lay a hand on that dog, stupid girl!” Choake snarled.

Demelza stood in shock as she tried to sort through what was happening. It was probably the most Choake had ever said to her but she just couldn’t see what was fueling such a violent reprimand. She turned to Mrs. Bodrugan, slumped in a chair. The women’s mascara-smeared eyes were puffy and wet, and she looked away in disgust.

Demelza felt a large hand on her shoulder and she jumped in start. She threw her hands up in defense then spun around to face Ned, the livestock manager she’d met when she visited with Dr. Enys. 

“You see, miss, Titus has passed. Dr. Choake just now…well, the boy had to be put down,” Ned explained gently.

Only then did Demelza notice the still dog lying at Mrs. Bodrugan’s other side. A sad sight for sure but he did look more peaceful than he did the previous night. 

“Oh, Titus!” she gasped. “What happened? I was only tryin’ to help…”

“The ole fella had cancer,” Ned added. “Nothin’ you could have done.”

At that Choake snapped his head towards her, his eyes blazing with fury. Now Demelza better understood the scene. Of course Choake was looking for someone to blame. He’d missed the signs when he last saw the dog, and had even refused to come out when called the night before. She wished Mrs. Bodrugan would say something on her behalf but understandably the woman was stunned and devastated at the loss of her beloved pet.

“That’s quite enough. Get that stupid girl out of here…” Another voice, familiar and entirely unwelcome, came from the hallway. Again, Demelza’s body stiffened in alarm, ready for fight. 

Hugh Bodrugan walked into the kitchen wearing a silk robe, and perhaps nothing under it.

“Come, Choake. I’m making an official complaint against the surgery as it is, but I’ll be ringing the constable if she doesn’t leave my house at once!” Hugh hissed.

Demelza had always found the man ominous when he laughed or smiled, but it didn’t take sharpened senses to guess that an angry Hugh was an entirely different sort of a threat. 

She wasted no time leaving and once she began running she didn’t stop until she reached the fence at the edge of Nampara.

Chapter 68: Love & Character

“I’ll help you with the saddle,” Demelza said when they reached the stable. Ross was about to argue with her when he saw she might need to keep busy as a way to calm herself. They were alike that way. Maybe she’d even learned it from him.

As she wiped the saddle and he attended the horse, she slowly explained what had happened both the night before and that morning. Ross made sure he kept his back to her so she couldn't see his face contort with concern--and anger.

“So you see how I fucked up,” Demelza sighed.

“No, you didn't,” Ross said simply. Inside he felt he could commit murder or at least violence. He hated that more than once now Hugh Bodrugan had made her feel so small, so insignificant.

“I mean, I know it's not technically my fault--no one, not even a good vet like Dr. Enys could have helped a dog with cancer if it had spread all over--I think those were tumours I was feelin….poor thing. But I need to be honest why I went. Both times.”

“And why is that?" he asked, though he knew she was about to tell him.

“‘Cause I was all puffed up with confidence--hubris!”

“Hubris? I doubt that,” he tried not to laugh. “And it's okay, Demelza, to not doubt yourself every moment of the day. Sometimes you have to just ride on expertise.”

“But that’s it, isn’t it, Ross? I didn't have the expertise, I thought I did,” she cried. “I’m just a kid playin’ at…”

“Playing at nothing!” Ross snapped. He walked over and grabbed her by the shoulders, looking into her eyes. “Demelza, when was the last time you played?” It was the most ridiculous thing he’d heard come from her mouth.

“Ross, don't get so upset…” She tried to look away but his grasp on her was unyielding.

“No, Demelza I'm not going to let you put down the person I admire most. And I don't want the lesson you learn here to be not to take chances, not to help others...not to be you!” His words were firm but they were delivered with care and warmth. 

“Well…”

“Besides, you told Constance Budrugan you were not an employee of the veterinary clinic but she heard what she wanted to hear--people often do--and she still begged you to come.”

“It really was more like a command,” she admitted. “And I said I would come as a neighbour.”

“See? Good god, you thought to say that…”

“But now Dr. Choake will write me a bad reference. That is, if he doesn’t end my internship entirely…” she fretted.

“There are others at the surgery who can assess your performance. Dwight for one.”

“I don’t want to drag Dr. Enys into this.” She shook her head and pulled away. “He’s been nothin’ but kind to me. I’m sure Phoebe would never have gotten him in this mess…”

“Who?” he asked. He assumed that was someone else from the surgery but he didn't recognise the name. Maybe Prudie was right and he wasn’t as attentive to her as he could have been.

“Oh, I don't really know her name. The girl who turned down the internship with Dr. Enys last minute--I just call her Phoebe in my head. She probably would have been out clubbin’ with her mates, totally pissed, and never would have even answered Constance Bodrugan’s call,” she said.

“Do you want to go clubbing?” he asked.

“No!”

“Demelza, I expect your phantom Phoebe doesn’t have the dedication and motivation you do, which is precisely why you answered the call. That’s your nature--don’t fight it. Look, my love, I know you feel badly, and I am sorry for that, but please don’t beat yourself up and make it worse. You’re acting like us Poldarks--we love marinating in self-inflicted torture.”

“Marinatin’? Does any other Poldarks do that but you, Ross?” She smiled for a moment, then her face turned pale again, her eyes dim. “Oh Ross! I just want to….to make you…”

“Make me what? Proud? Happy? Because you do that every day…” He stepped closer again and took her hand in his.

“Forget I’m still so young,” she said softly and buried her face in his shoulder. He could feel her silent sobs shudder through her body as he pressed her close to him.

What could he say? She was young--and most days that just didn’t matter but to ignore it entirely was to ignore an aspect of her, of who she was. And if she was spending every day trying to be something she wasn’t, just for him? It would be exhausting and also not right.

“Demelza, I just want you. As you are. Imperfect…”

She snorted a laugh. 

“An imperfect horse? Uh...thanks Ross…”

“No, listen to me. Just be you...but be you for yourself, and don’t worry about what I want. Know that I love you…”

“I do,” she said softly.

He meant every word he said but it hit him in his gut that this terror gripped her at times, this fear she harboured at doing something wrong, at making mistakes, and being blamed, might be coming from old scars, deep within. 

As a child she should have had parents telling her of her worth, every day. Instead, she’d had the opposite: a dead mother and an abusive father. For whatever complaints Ross had about Joshua, he knew the man loved him in his own way. And though he had few memories of his own mother, not more than a mist really, it was a mist of love and tenderness that she’d filled him with in his younger days.

He hated to think that no one had really given Demelza that ever. No one before she met Ross and Prudie. Prudie was a poor substitute for a mother, perhaps more like an auntie, but at least she didn’t hide her care for Demelza. And Ross? What exactly had he given her?

I’m her lover, her friend even, but not her parent, he reminded himself. It really was better that she had trusting adults in her life like Dwight, Verity, her teachers, even Mrs. Carter, who could help her fill in the gaps in places Ross dared not tread. 

His relationship with Demelza was complicated enough--or was it in fact quite simple?

“You don’t think I’m an idiot?” she asked, looking at  him with just a hint of a smile. It reminded him a bit of one of those times the sun shines while the rain is still falling.

“Good god,” he said and kissed her. “You are the wisest person I’ve ever known.”

---

It had been a long afternoon. Ross had been adamant about Demelza staying away from the hopyard for the day but feeling restless--and still agitated--she did not have a leisurely lie down, as he’d hoped. Instead, she took to overdue house tasks with a fury. The hearths were swept of any ash, window panes were wiped sparkling clean, bathroom grout was scrubbed with a toothbrush, and every square inch of carpet was hoovered twice. Towels and bed linens were changed and the washing machine hummed all afternoon. She filled three bin bags with old magazines, clothes both those unworn and those worn out, and a not insignificant collection of flip flops that had mysteriously lost their mates. 

She sorted through the rain gear they usually kept out for their house guests, stuffing most of them back into a trunk in the library and leaving only three hanging on the pegs--enough for the permanent residents of Nampara. 

Recently manicured Prudie watched from the sidelines, but Demelza hadn’t expected her to do more. The fuss over her nails was only today’s excuse.  

“Well, looks like you have a plan then, girl. Don’t want to get in yer way. Tell you what, I’ll fix us a proper supper in return,” Prude offered, then shuffled off to her room to watch Countdown on Channel 4.

Ross wasn’t thrilled when he returned and saw that Demelza had taken on all that housework by herself but once again he understood that she’d found it helpful to be busy--and feel useful--when inner clouds loomed. 

He also saw that she’d done something else important for them both. The house had been purged of any outward traces of having ever hosted guests. Nampara had been thoroughly transformed back into a private home and no longer was someone else's vacation destination.

Whether or not Demelza’s productive afternoon had been cathartic, it did leave her exhausted. She dutifully ate a bacon sandwich (Prudie’s interpretation of a proper supper) then went upstairs early to bed. She said she wanted to do some reading but Ross expected she’d be asleep within minutes.

It was a little after eight, when Dwight Enys’s Skoda pulled into the yard behind the house. Ross had been sitting outside, trying to catch his breath and watching the last of the sun's blood orange light as it was squeezed from the dusky sky. 

“Dwight,” he called, then glanced at the open windows and remembered to keep his voice down. 

“I hope you don’t mind that I came by without ringing first. I was in the neighbourhood…” Dwight explained then joined Ross at the old wooden table set under the eaves. 

“You’re always welcome. Join me for a drink?” Ross asked and without waiting for Dwight’s reply, poured them both a glass of the Mizunara single cask he’d brought out with him earlier but hadn’t yet opened. 

“Just one. I’m driving. Where’s Demelza?” Dwight asked.

“She’s asleep,” Ross said. His tone was firm and protective--it was clear he was not about to rouse her, for any reason. 

“Well, she's been through the ringer, poor girl,” Dwight said. “But I do have good news. Hugh Bodrugan has withdrawn his complaint with Choake.”

“What? How did…”

“I spoke to him--it wasn’t an easy conversation but I managed to convince him,” Dwight explained. “By the way, this is good whisky, Ross. Since when did you acquire such good taste?” he teased.

“I’ve some shite inside if that’s more your style, Dwight,” Ross laughed then turned his thoughts back to what he’d just been told. There had to be a catch. “So how did you do it? You didn't promise Bodrugan free vet care, did you?” he asked.

“No--the opposite. I persuaded him to spend more money on preventative care of his animals so that we wouldn’t always be reacting to one crisis after another,” Dwight said. “He eventually saw it my way, but he did request that Choake or I bring Demelza along on home visits instead of Meggy.”

“He actually asked that? That piece of…” Ross sputtered, his hand clasping around his glass.

“It’s okay, I told him that wouldn’t happen.,” Dwight said quickly, perhaps afraid Ross would crush the glass in his bare hand. “Ross, I don't care for the man--he’s pompous and unpleasant in the worst sort of way that rich old men of privilege can be,” he added then pulled his lips thin before he asked his next question. “Tell me, is there some sort of history there? Something else about the Bodrugans that you aren't telling me?”

“Yes. He has a history…” Ross grumbled. “Of being inappropriate...with Demelza. Probably others too.”

“What?” Dwight stammered in alarm. “Not on our visit, I hope? I don't recall ever seeing him the day we attended their calf.”

“No, when she was their cleaner--it was a brief stint,” Ross added, trying to wish away the whole ordeal.

“Did he…?”

“Hugh never touched her, if that’s what you’re asking, but his words and looks were enough,” Ross said. He recalled the hidden cameras and shuddered. Suddenly the fine whisky lost its flavour.

“I had no idea,” Dwight shook his head in concern. “She didn't say anything when she went there with me. I would have never suggested she come had I known.”

“I know you wouldn’t. And Demelza would have told you if it was too much for her. I think so anyway.”

Dwight took a slow sip then exhaled half a breath, apparently trying to summon the nerve to ask his question.

“Yes?” Ross laughed lightly, helping him along.

“Ross, can I ask you something else that is unequivocally none of my business other than the fact that you and I are friends and I am enjoying seeing you happier than you've been in years?”

“That's quite a lead up,” Ross laughed again, this time bracing himself for what he suspected would come next.

“It’s about Demelza...she’s not just your employee, is she?”

Even though he’d been expecting this conversation for some time, Ross still found himself a bit tongue-tied. When Ross first introduced Demelza to Dwight earlier that summer, he hadn't really tried to hide that she was someone close to him. But he also had not explicitly defined the exact nature of that relationship either. And the more time Dwight spent around them both, together and separately, no doubt he’d picked up cues. 

“No, no, she’s not,” Ross nodded his head solemnly before continuing. “We’ve...been seeing each other.” Good god, that was stupid expression and a wholly inadequate means of describing what they’d built together. He took a chance and went on. “It’s not just a fling. I...I love her,” he added.  

“Oh! I didn’t…” Dwight sputtered. “I had suspicions that you two were...together in some way but I didn’t realise that you care for her in such a manner…that you had feelings for each other. That’s different.” Dwight smiled with a sort of relief. 

“You presume she likes me back,” Ross laughed.

Dwight shot him a look. It would have been obvious to Dwight for some time that Demelza adored Ross.The way she talked about him--or sometimes didn't talk about him even when pressed by her teasing mates at the surgery--was a giveaway.

“Ross, I assume you know what you are doing?” Dwight asked.

“You mean because she is so much younger than I am?” 

Because she is still in school, because I am her employer? Because I rescued her from an abusive home when she was a young girl? Because she has no family to speak of? There were a hundred ways to phrase what could be seen as wrong with that relationship.

“Yes.”

Ross was silent for a moment while he tried to answer that question himself. Did he truly know what he was doing or was he just hoping for the best? He did love her. And he would never hurt her or hold her back. She knew that, wasn’t that all that mattered?

“Of course you do, Ross. Forgive me for asking. I know you are a man of character.”

“Yes. Character. Whatever that means,” Ross laughed. “Okay, my turn to ask you something that is only mildly my business since I seem to be somewhat responsible for putting her in your way.” 

Ross hadn’t yet asked his question when Dwight began to blush. 

“Tell me, Dr. Enys, how did your dinner date with Caroline Penvenen go last night?”

“Yes that…well, the conversation was nerve-wracking, even infuriating at times, the food was overpriced and unsatisfying--and all together it was thoroughly wonderful. I’m seeing her again this Saturday,” Dwight smiled.

“Cheers!” Ross raised his glass to his friend. “Unsatisfying, eh?" he teased.

“Please don’t tell Caroline I said that. Mind you, it was only the food that was unsatisfying.”

“Our secret, mate,” Ross laughed.

Notes:

Happy New Year! Thanks for your patience between updates. This is not the end--there's still more to come with these two, I promise. Thanks for reading and stay safe/healthy in 2022!

Chapter 69: Plans

“I still find takeoffs the most unnerving part of air travel,” Ross said and took Demelza's hand in his as they ascended out of Newquay. He could see she was nervous and the roaring and shaking of the tiny plane wasn’t helping.

Demelza had been holding her breath, her eyes squeezed shut. But as soon as the plane leveled she dared to open them, and looked at Ross, biting her lip sheepishly.

“Just what sort of adventurer am I then?” she laughed. “Oh look!” Now she peered out the window as the pilot swung an arc away from the sea to begin their journey north. “I didn't expect that we’d be able to see things so clearly. I swear I can almost recognise those houses!”

“We’ll probably stay rather low and won't reach the same altitude as a bigger plane, like the one you took to Spain. That also means we’ll feel more. It may be a bumpy ride.”

“Have you…flown much?” she asked. “I never asked you.” She seemed embarrassed at this oversight.

“I hope I still have some mystery to you,” he laughed and kissed her hand. She instinctively  looked around to see if anyone had seen that affectionate gesture but no one else was paying attention and they were largely blocked from the view of other passengers by the unyielding seat backs in front of them. Besides, most likely no one on the flight knew them. 

“Yes, I did. In the army. Transport planes are the worst–they’re loud, they smell like fuel exhaust, and you never really forget you’re in the air. I’m not overfond of that feeling,” he said. 

His final flight home truly had been the worst. Even though Ross had largely recovered from his injuries, he’d already heard of his father’s death and Elizabeth’s marriage to his uncle. He’d hated every minute of that journey–and hated himself as well. He was nothing and was returning to even less.

“Oh Ross,” Demelza said, reading his face. Now it was her turn to comfort him, as she often did when he went somewhere dark.

He looked at her for just a moment and smiled. Good god, he had so much. Demelza had changed everything for him. It wasn’t just her love, it was her influence. Even before she was his lover, she was his friend and seeing things through her eyes meant he came to understand the world differently. He could recognise all his good fortune and more often than not, felt proud of his accomplishments. He was simply a better man because of her.

“Never mind that,” he said and kissed her hand again, this time lingering just a bit more to signal how he cherished her. “Over the next hour and ten minutes, until we land, you must tell me everything you want to do in Manchester. No doubt you’ve given it some thought?”

“One hour and four minutes–we’ve already been in the air for six minutes. And if you must know, I suppose I do have some plans for you…” she winked.

—

The weekend in Manchester almost didn’t happen. 

The first reason wasn’t a crisis exactly, more of a colossal inconvenience that threatened to become a legal headache–and of course had financial considerations. 

Ross should have trusted his gut earlier. He just knew that having George Warleggan as a neighbour to Carnmore would bring some sort of trouble, even when his solicitors and Tonkin had assured him that there was nothing to worry about. In less than a week after taking ownership of the lot and storage buildings adjacent to the main Carnmore brewing facility, the Warleggans immediately erected a rather substantial fence that initiated a dispute over property lines and right of way.

The two properties had a right of way agreement written into their deeds long ago and for years Carnmore lorries had relied on using the common gravel road between them in order to access the B3289. The new Warleggan fence included a locked gate that now blocked that easement, which proved no small aggravation. Without that direct access, Carnmore drivers would have to go nearly a mile out of their way, winding round the neighbourhood’s one-way streets. And a recent Experimental Traffic Regulation scheme limited vehicle transport on some of those very roads during peak hours, meaning they’d have to find yet another route before they could even start their deliveries. Longer driving shifts would cost more money. 

And the last thing Carnmore needed was complaints from neighbours. While everyone might find the idea of a local brewery charming, to have its lorries thundering past your home each day was a different thing altogether. It was hardly good PR for the business and no amount of promotional reels could undo that damage.

“Just ask us to unlock it–when we’re around, that is,” Cary Warleggan, George's uncle, had flippantly replied when Tonkin questioned him on the subject.  “You can't seriously expect we’d allow just anyone through with no security? We have valuable inventory stored here and we simply cannot risk theft. Just ask your partner, Poldark. He knows all about the rampant bands of thieves in this area.” 

Ross supposed that last line was some sort of dig at Jim Carter. But Jim had stolen copper from a house about to be knocked down, not a storage facility, so the comparison hardly stood. Was Cary insinuating that Ross associated with criminals? Either way, it was meant to rankle Ross–which it did.

“They haven’t a leg to stand on, even if they were to offer you the key,” their solicitor later advised Ross and Tonkin. “You are the dominant owner and can apply to court for an injunction and damages if the servient owner blocks it.”

Still the whole ordeal meant that Ross and Tonkin had to meet with the solicitors (and pay for those sessions) and then begin the business of applying for the injunction. All this ate into time and money neither of them had expected to give up. And in the meanwhile, they had to revamp their entire delivery schedule around prearranged times when some Warleggan lackey was around to unlock the accursed gate.

That whole week Ross stayed at the Carnmore offices in Truro until quite late and had to leave supervision of the hop harvest, and the lion’s share of the labour involved, to both John Cobbledick and Demelza.

Demelza took it in stride. Although she did fret for Ross’s sake, and worried about him driving home in the dark exhausted, she was honoured to be trusted so greatly. Each morning she went out to meet the crew with a checklist of work to be completed and a timetable of when they’d need to be reporting results to her. She was, as Ross had expected, an impressive task master and thus far everything in the hopyard was going according to schedule.

The other incident that threatened to derail their plans for a weekend holiday was distressing in a different way.

One evening, Mrs. Carter slipped on her way out to the bins. She hadn't fallen a great distance but how she landed, on the brick steps behind their house, resulted in tremendous pain in her hip. She tried to ignore it and all evening she hobbled around using an old cane that had belonged to her mother. She even managed to fix dinner for her family, stubbornly refusing help from her young daughters. But she was awake all night, and come morning was on her way to A & E for what ended up being more than just a bruise–it was in fact a fracture. The surgery to insert a titanium pin thankfully went well and she was due to be discharged from hospital that Friday morning.

Both Demelza and Ross hated the idea of leaving for even the briefest of holidays when their neighbour–and friend–was in such dire straits.

“Jinny said she’d come stay with the Carters and look after them,” Demelza told Ross, but the news wasn’t quite so reassuring. Even if Jinny took on the care of Jim’s school-aged sisters, Mrs. Carter's lost wages would still be felt. “Oh Ross, I wish we could do more!” Demelza exclaimed.

“Perhaps we can. I don’t know how much financial assistance Mrs. Carter would accept from me–if any–but I’ll at least give it a try,” Ross said. 

I know that’s what my father would have done.

“And have we any?” Demelza asked. “Money to spare, that is?”

“This isn’t your burden, Demelza,” he replied quickly, then caught that he’d been too sharp and took her hand in his to let her know he appreciated her concern. “But…yes we do…maybe.”

“Ross,” she said, looking him in the eye. “We need to be honest about this whole fucked situation,” she sighed. “Mrs. Carter’s not goin’ to be up and on her feet for some weeks, and Jinny…well, as much as she offers emotional support, in the end she’s another mouth to feed, isn’t she? A mouth and a half, I suppose. And Ross, you’ve all these legal fees and new burdens with Carnmore you’re responsible for, not to mention the wages we’re payin’ to the harvest crew...”

“What do you propose then?” he asked. He’d wanted to laugh but the way she laid it all out for him left nothing to joke about.

“Well, since you ask, I’ve a three-fold plan…”

“A what?” Now he did laugh.

“I mean I’ve a proposal…for your approval of course.” She feigned deference. But Ross was intrigued. She had a record of some rather clever ideas in the past. Maybe this was one of them.

“First, you have to stop payin’ me wages,” she said.

“Absolutely not!” He cut her off.

“No, hear me out,” she countered. “Seriously. I don't just board here like some tenant, Ross, it’s my home, don’t you see? I’m invested in the prosperity of all of Nampara too. Me and you together. Let’s be honest about that…” It was the second time she’d pressed him to be honest and the request wasn’t lost on him. She was asking him to recognise their partnership in areas outside of the bedroom.

“Yes but…” he stammered.

“Pay Jinny to work here. In my place. But not tendin’ the goats–that’s too much for a pregnant woman I suspect, so in the house or whatever. She then can take that money home to Mrs. Carter.”

“Okay but how is this saving me money?” he asked gently.

“If I’m not workin’ for you, then I can get a job somewhere else.”

“No!” he said again.

“Oh Ross, darlin’,” she laughed. “You seem to be operatin’ under the assumption I need your permission.” She was teasing but her message was clear. She had the deciding say in who she worked for. 

“Dr. Enys told me the surgery could take me on with pay after my internship ends,” she said with a proud smile. 

“But what about the upcoming term? This year in particular with exams and applications…and all that revising?” he couldn’t help but ask. Still he grasped what a triumph Dwight’s offer would mean to her, especially after her misstep with the Bodrugans.

“Are you tryin’ to make me more anxious than I already am?” She raised a brow and laughed. “Besides, I told Dr. Enys that I'd only work on weekends.” 

“Okay…and I don't love it but…wait. What’s the third prong of your plan?”

“Well…I think we need to take on Airbnb guests again.”

“Demelza…” he groaned. 

He hated it. He wanted nothing more than seclusion, solitude, and privacy. He hated the shuffling and relocating, the work it placed on everyone’s shoulders, and he especially hated having to put up a friendly facade towards strangers. Strangers who slept in his bed and used his loo rolls and even ate his food.

“Come on, Ross. You have to admit, it’s a proven income source, one that has helped us before,” she said. 

“But hasn’t the busy season passed? Would we get any guests to even make it worth the bother? The summer is just about over…”

“Yes, that’s sorta true–we’ll likely not have families as we do in the summer months…”

At this he sighed and she narrowed her eyes playfully to let him know she didn’t appreciate being interrupted.

“But,” she continued firmly, ”now those who make their holidays in the autumn will come through. I read it's mainly older folk, pensioners, who travel then. Not bound by school calendars and all,” she answered. 

Of course she’d done her homework on this.

“Look, Ross, I don't love it either but as long as I get to bunk with you, I don’t care if it's the bedroom upstairs or in the stable.”

“Prudie won’t be happy. Especially if you’re not around as much.” It was a pathetic argument and he knew it. But he had no others. 

“Ah but you see, she won’t be alone–she’ll have Jinny! And the prospect of havin’ someone new to teach and mold…and scold. I think that will be quite satisfyin’ for her.” 

She’d thought of everything.

What choice did Ross have? Perhaps taking on guests again would truly be temporary. 

And somehow having a plan, a way forward to help Mrs. Carter, made a weekend in Manchester seem reasonable afterall.

Besides, he’d promised Demelza that they’d go, no matter how the world got in their way–her words. Even after he’d booked their tickets, he’d sensed she still doubted he’d be able to follow through, that he’d be fully committed–those had also been her words. Part of him wanted to prove her wrong on that score but the much larger part of him truly just wanted to make her happy.

Notes:

“Suppose I have [other] plans for you?” I couldn't resist turning the tables and putting those words (from debbie Horsfield's S1:04 script) in Demelza’s mouth.

Want to know more about UK property law? I’ll bet you do…
https://uk.practicallaw.thomsonreuters.com/0-202-2726?transitionType=Default&contextData=(sc.Default)

Chapter 70: The Holiday

“Oh, Ross--look!” Demelza put her finger to the bell labeled Blamey/Poldark and smiled. “Isn’t that just so lovely?”

Ross laughed lightly then pressed the buzzer himself. If Demelza was going to find wonder in every corner of Manchester, starting with Verity’s doorbell, then he would gladly follow behind her and share in her happiness. This weekend was about her.

It turned out the grand plans Demelza had crafted for them mostly centered around spending time with Verity and Andrea, and she was not to be disappointed. There was much clutching and hugging, shrieks of joy and of laughter when they were all reunited in the little flat. 

“I know it's only been a few weeks since we’ve seen you last but it feels like it’s been forever,” Demelza cried.

“Oh, I missed you too.” Verity allowed herself to be crushed in a hug from Ross.

Andrea Blamey seemed just as genuinely glad to have them visit as Verity did.  Both Ross and Demelza had met Andrea before, but in this warm domestic setting she seemed jollier, more at ease. It might be expected she’d be more relaxed here than in Cornwall--in her own home she didn’t have to hide her love. No one should ever have to. 

Ross would need to remember that.

“Welcome! Did you have a good flight? No–wait, that counts as talking shop and I promised Verity,” Andrea laughed. “But do come in, come in! Let’s get you a drink.”

“It's a rather tiny flat, I’m afraid,” Verity apologised. “We’re looking for a bigger place but until I’ve settled in a new job it isn’t quite practical to move house yet.” 

“Rents in this neighbourhood have really skyrocketed since some developers decided the area wasn’t actually rundown but in fact was trendy.”

Ross made a mental note not to add his own grumbles about developers. He too had made a promise not to talk about work woes that weekend.

“We may end up moving outside the city entirely. But if we’re closer to the airport that would at least benefit Andrea,” Verity said. “I need no luxury…”

“I’ve been in this same flat for years but I never needed much space when it was just me. Well me and my boy, James,” Andrea explained.

“James?” Ross asked, confused. Surely if there had been a child in this new arrangement Verity would have said something. Especially if she was to be a stepmum. It didn’t track.

“James is our cat,” Verity laughed at Ross’s confusion. “I hope he won’t bother you too much. I know you aren't overfond of cats, Ross. Here, we’ve set up an air mattress for you in the spare room. I’m sorry it's a bit cramped and not quite five star accommodations…” It was the fourth time she’d apologised in as many minutes. 

So it seemed traces of Verity’s old insecurity remained, as if she still expected to be admonished at every turn. All those years living with Uncle Charles and his ridiculous--and unachievable--standards had not yet fully been shed. 

Ross felt himself stiffen for just a moment. He recalled Verity had said once Andrea had no patience for the timid. Now he watched Andrea’s face but he couldn’t quite read her response to Verity’s self-deprecation. Of course how they conducted the emotional dynamics of their relationship was none of his business, but Verity’s happiness was. 

It was Demelza, with a genuine smile, who quickly and masterfully changed the subject. 

“Oh Verity, it's perfect--so cosy--and thank you both for havin’ us invade your flat for the weekend.” 

Naturally Demelza hadn’t forgotten her own humble roots in a crowded flat with her boisterous family so she wasn’t one to get hung up on where she laid her head. She also saw how important it was for her and Ross to show their full support of Verity's hard-fought new life--every inch of it.

–---

That whole evening, Ross took great pleasure in watching Demelza’s little triumphs, and in seeing her afresh, admired and respected, through someone else’s eyes. 

Verity already adored her but it only took Demelza about five minutes to win Andrea over entirely. Ross wasn’t surprised--over the years he’d seen her do that with even the most difficult of strangers. She had an unusual vitality about her that was hard not to find charming and endearing.

They ate in at the flat, a wonderful supper Verity made for them, and afterwards Andrea and Demelza soundly beat Team Poldark at a game of XBox bowling–a game that started friendly but became cut throat in no time. 

“I believe you cheated,” Ross teased as Demelza did a spirited victory dance.

“You know, I’ve never even played that before,” Demelza laughed and high-fived Andrea. “Beginner’s luck I suppose.”

“Beginner’s luck? Remind me never to play cards against you,” Ross said.

“Poor Ross. Here, come lick your wounds and tell me what’s new with Aunt Agatha.” Verity led him to the sofa and the open bottle of wine next to it.

“So that means the winners get the pleasure of…doing the dishes, am I right my dear?” Andrea laughed.

“Oh, I don’t mind. Let the Poldarks catch up. They so rarely get to do so,” Demelza said. Ross thought he caught a flicker of sympathy in her eyes--a recognition that Verity and Ross shared a special burden, and sadness, that went along with the family name.

Verity must have seen it too for she gave a little sigh before she spoke.

“Demelza’s right, you know. You’re the closest family I have now and we’re so far apart,” she said.

“Verity, I’m one hour and ten minutes away. Now that I know how quickly I can get here, you must promise to call on me whenever you need me.”

“And I say the same to you, Ross. But maybe we are fortunate enough to have others in our lives to fill the void, to smooth the edges, to offer love.”

“I’m glad to see you so happy.”

“Thank you. Sometimes it still feels so new--to be free to live my own life…” she smiled. “Now tell me about Aunt Agatha. Is she still running circles around poor Morwenna?”

“Yes, I’d hoped a permanent shift could be made. Morwenna was so good with your father…”

“I saw that too.” Verity sighed again. “But Aunt Agatha would have none of it, almost as though she wanted to best Father in some way--that must sound daft…”

“No, it isn’t daft but observant. They play cruel games with each other, don’t they?”

“Is that a Poldark trait?” she asked.

“God, I hope not.”

“In the ideal Aunt Agatha’s carer should be someone who can both attend to her needs but not put up with her nonsense. That wasn’t quite me--she knew she had me around her finger,” Verity said. 

“That’s a special skill set neither of us have,” Ross agreed.

He remembered Demelza had once thought Prudie would be well suited to work with older people. At the time, he’d considered it a strange observation, but she was rarely wrong about these things, maybe there was something to it. Well, even if it were true, he wouldn’t be lending Prudie out to the Trenwith Poldarks. If anything, he’d need her more in the coming months so Demelza could do less.

The mention of Uncle Charles and Aunt Agatha quickly cast a pall over the previously cheerful mood. Ross and Verity sat for a moment looking into their glasses but whatever gloomy thoughts they were contemplating were soon  interrupted by the gales of laughter coming from the kitchen.

“Um, I think that’s our sign to forget about the Poldarks because whatever is happening in there sounds loads more fun,” Verity finally said. 

“Demelza makes even the most tedious of chores entertaining,” Ross smiled as Verity refilled his wine glass.

“Oh hullo you two,” Demelza said. “Andrea was just tellin’ me stories about the most unruly passengers she’s ever dealt with. So the flight attendant really had to threaten that bloke with a coffee pot?”

“Yes, I wasn’t in the cockpit on that flight. Just hitching a ride to Tokyo but it was quite a melee,” Andrea confirmed. “We’re almost done here, Ver. You don't need to check up on us. See? No dish shall be left on the draining board, I assure you.” She twirled her towel with extra flourish to demonstrate her point.

Verity laughed. “Before I moved in, I’m not sure Andrea ever put a single dish away. Ever.”

“It was just me, so all I needed was one cup, one plate, one spoon–and why bother putting them in cupboards? But no more–Verity is my angel of redemption,” Andrea smiled.

“Cupboards are entirely overrated,” Ross agreed. 

“Erm, Ross? Let’s not talk about the state of your kitchen before Demelza took over,” Verity teased. “And you had a housekeeper!”

Demelza just smiled and continued to wipe the cutlery before putting them back neatly in the proper drawer.

“You know a wet dish can attract mice?” she said. “One would think its food left lyin’ about but they’re always searchin’ for  water sources too. ‘Course you two wouldn't have to worry so much in a city flat with a cat about.”

“There’s plenty of mice in the city too. That’s precisely why we have our James,” Verity answered. “You never replaced your old Nampara cat?” 

“No, but I’m sure one will wander into our lives again at some point,” Demelza said. “Cats just seem to happen, don’t they?”

“Does that mean you have your eye on some orphaned feline at the surgery in need of a good home?” Ross looked at her, his eyes shining with love. At that moment he would have given her a pet dragon if she’d asked.

“Would I ever bring anythin’ into your house that displeased you, Ross?” she asked with a mock earnestness before the laugh she was trying to contain burst through. Her wide smile lit up the room.

“Andrea,” Verity said. “You should tell them about the time the ovens malfunctioned on that overnight flight to Miami.”

“Oh yes, the passengers almost rioted when they learned there was no food. Kid you not. You see, what happened was…”

Ross took another sip from his glass and watched the three of them talk and joke about with one another. A sense of contentment and belonging washed over him, and although he often felt that way in his own home, it was a new sensation to have it replicated when out with others. 

He no longer questioned whether he deserved this happiness. Everyone had such a right. Months of living with Demelza--and being loved by her--had altered his outlook. 

This is what it looks like to build a life together, he thought.

----

Spending time catching up with Verity and getting to know Andrea better, per Demelza’s plan, didn't mean they weren't also to see Manchester. All day Saturday they did nothing but. They walked along the canals, then did the obligatory museum jaunt all tourists must do. Verity had recommended the art museum, which Demelza thought sounded great, and Andrea suggested the football museum, which was more in keeping with Ross’s tastes. In the end they settled on the Museum of Science and Industry where an exhibit on sustainable agriculture caught Ross’s attention while Demelza was enthralled by one on biomedical technologies. If Andrea and Verity were bored at all, they politely hid it. 

Afterwards they ate a late lunch at a Spanish restaurant where a gleeful Demelza ordered for them all in very competently accented Spanish. A night of sleeping on a deflated air mattress had not lessened her energy nor her excitement one bit.

“You did that beautifully my dear,” Verity said. She’d been enjoying watching Demelza’s delight at every turn–almost as much as Ross did.

“Well I’m bettin’ everyone who works here speaks English but it's fun to try nonetheless.” Demelza smiled and dished out some of the pulpo a la gallega from her plate onto Verity’s. “I don’t get much chance outside of school to really practice. Even there, we write more than we speak, it seems.”

“You should do a term abroad,” Andrea suggested. “A few months of intensive immersion and by the time you come home you’ll be dreaming in Spanish.”

“Erm… one step at a time,” Demelza stammered and blushed. She still got flustered talking about her future plans with others, and her mixed feelings about going far away had only grown stronger since she first voiced them to Ross weeks ago.  

Ross sensed what was bubbling up in her and gently put his hand to her back.

“Abroad? Yes, preferably somewhere warm, and then we’ll all come visit you,” Ross winked. It was a lie and no doubt Demelza saw through his flimsy act. But it was important that he voice his support for whatever she chose to do, and there was no harm in her merely trying on the idea. In truth he hated the thought of her traveling further away than necessary--but also knew he’d never try to stop her.

“This might be the best soup I’ve ever had.” Demelza changed the subject. “No, that’s not quite accurate. My favourite soup was at your old cafe, Verity. Oh I’m sorry, to have brought it up--you’re probably missin’ havin’ your own place.”

“No, I agree about this garlic soup. It’s amazing,” Verity smiled. “Maybe someday I’ll have my own place again. Though rents here are so much greater than in Truro.”

“Ver has been doing some consulting,” Andrea said proudly.

“Oh?” Ross asked.

“Menu revamps and design mostly.” Now it was Verity’s turn to blush. “Still it’s paid work, even if it’s piecemeal…”

“That's brilliant. Congratulations,” Ross raised his glass of wine.

“Yes, well, as Demelza just said, one step at a time,” Verity replied.

Notes:

The lines “Verity is my angel of redemption”, “I need no luxury”, and “to be free to live my own life” are borrowed from Debbie Horsfield’s scripts (S1:2 and S1:6). Also Ross noting Demelza got on well with difficult people comes from Winston Graham’s Jeremy. Only in that book it is difficult men (Frances and Sir Hugh in particular) that Demelza wins over.

Chapter 71: The Hunt

“Well?” Demelza asked, stepping out of the tiny bathroom in Verity and Andrea’s flat. “Too much?”

“Too little,” Ross said, looking at what seemed to be miles of exposed skin. 

She was wearing a black knit skirt that clung to her contours and a silver-grey top, a lacey black bra just visible underneath. The bra was new and he guessed that under her skirt was a matching set of knickers. He ached to get a proper glimpse of those or better yet, remove them entirely. Instead he reached out and ran his fingers up her arm to her bare shoulder, admiring what he found along the way.

“No, Ross! I mean the makeup...I was tryin’ for a smokey eye.” 

“I love your eyes, smokey or...not smokey?” he stumbled. His own eyes were fixed on her lips which were a dark red, the colour of the ruby port his father used to favour. For a moment Ross had a very wicked thought, imagining a lipstick stain of that same colour somewhere on his body. Without meaning to, he shifted his legs uncomfortably.

“Ross?” she laughed and shook her head playfully. “Where’d you go?”

Her hair was down tonight, hanging past her shoulders. He had the urge to run his fingers through her curls grabbing it up in his hands.

Not now, not yet. He’d have to wait before he could be with her like that. Until then he’d be sharing her in public. 

Tonight they were going to a club. Not one of the iconic superclubs like Sankey’s or Hidden–at Andrea's recommendation they chose a smaller venue called Steel not terribly far from the flat. They could get there by bus and take a taxi home later. 

“It’s got a younger set, I’m told,” Andrea said with a wink to Ross, who tried not to sigh too loudly. Andrea and Verity declined to join them but from the sidelines watched Demelza’s excitement as she got ready. And they seemed to find Ross’s reluctance equally amusing.

A dance club had been Demelza’s choice--of course--but Ross saw it as another opportunity to give her something she wanted, to make her happy.

He’d promised her that.

She never said as much but the fact that Demelza had packed carefully chosen clothes for a night out, told Ross it was an important item on her proposed agenda. He also knew Demelza wanted more than just an escort–she wanted someone to share her fun. So while he’d rather drink from the canal than dance all night with strangers, he tried his best to be enthusiastic about what lay ahead of them. 

He hoped he didn't disappoint her by merely wearing a t-shirt and jeans. At least the shirt was clean.

—

Ross put his hand on Demelza’s back as they stepped into the queue outside the club, and for a moment felt like he was touching a sparking wire. 

When Ross had last been to a club he was a young soldier, stationed in Cyprus. Going to discotheques was a regular weekend routine for his army mates and he often was dragged along. It wasn’t really his scene–and even then he thought the music was shite–but he understood what it meant to those around him. A place they could put on their civvies and be free, a place to forget the world around them for just a while.

But freedom wasn’t the only reason people came to clubs. It was the physical thrill of both hunting and being hunted oneself. He knew that first hand as well. 

The only occasion he’d ever come close to being unfaithful to Elizabeth whilst away had been after a few hours of dancing and twice as many ouzos. His prey–or had she been the predator–was a lovely Finnish tourist. Good god, had he never even known her name? They struck up a conversation in English when he stepped outside for a smoke and then they found themselves moving closer and closer once back inside. She’d put her hand to his arm at one point–he could still remember her fingers on his sweaty skin–and then she turned around and pressed her backside against him. He’d responded by putting his arms around her waist and his mouth to her ear. It hadn’t gone much farther than that, even though she had invited him up to her hotel room. 

At the time Ross still had an admirable but naive loyalty to his girlfriend back in Cornwall, and so as much as it pained him, he didn’t so much as properly snog that sexy stranger. He’d even explained that to her as he drunkenly turned her down. And as he should have guessed, she was not impressed by his honour–or maybe she saw it as stupidity. The irony was that back in Cornwall, Elizabeth was probably already in bed with Uncle Charles.

A former Manchester industrial space of some sort that had been reclaimed and repurposed, the club tonight was larger than those from Ross’s army days and far more packed. Once inside they had to push against a swell of bodies to make it to the dance floor. If Demelza was at all intimidated, she didn't show it.

Ross wasn’t familiar with the music being played, nor did he care for it, but he was surprised to find his body knew what to do. Even if it had been years, he wasn’t the worst dancer. A few moves came naturally to him, hands in the air, feet shuffled on beat and all that. 

If he was passable, then Demelza was simply brilliant. Of course in her day to day life she was always dancing–around her room or the yard or the kitchen–but Ross had never seen her like this before. Eyes closed, arms above her head, which was sexily thrown back to show off her long neck and the low cut of her top. And somehow she seemed able to articulate joints in her backside and hips and legs and elbows all at the same time so that each move followed its own microbeat. The freshness of her youth, her strength of her body, her strangely radiant beauty, and her undisguised exhilaration at such a scene all came together at that moment.

Ross had long thought it but tonight there was no denying it: Demelza was hot, leng, fit–whatever terms people used these days to objectify a woman. He was never one to claim a girlfriend as a possession but the idea that Demelza had declared she loved him and him alone–and thus conjured up a physical manifestation of that love on a regular basis just for him, was enough to take his breath away. And standing–or swaying as it were–in this crowded club pulsing with an intense dance beat and with palpable human sexual electricity, he once again felt rather fortunate.

She’s with me, he thought proudly. Tonight he was the one who would be going home with her and her desirable body (And mind! And her mind!, he reminded himself). That was, as long as he didn’t do anything stupid. 

These feelings of pride churning within him seemed new somehow. Of course, the difference was, that for once, they were out together in public, and he could see that others around him liked what they saw in her. It was both a blessing and a curse to be with someone as attractive as she was.

It’s nice if one’s partner is desired by others…But no one wants their partner to be one that others actually get.

Ross felt a stab of guilt in his gut. Then another. Did he really think he’d lose her here to some other bloke? It was unthinkable. And wasn’t he really just as shallow as everyone else there, out for a sexual conquest, even if the hunt he’d be sharing with Demelza had a predetermined outcome? Sure he could claim to care about Demelza’s feelings (And her mind!) but right now he was so caught up with the smooth skin on her arms stretched out over her head and the curve of her breasts. The way her hips moved in circles…How did she do that? Where the fuck had she learned to do that?

“I’ll get us some drinks,” he said but he already felt quite tipsy. He’d had to get up close to her and shout in her ear but even then she shook her head like she hadn’t properly heard him. 

How did anyone manage to pick up someone in a place like this when conversation was nearly impossible? Then again, conversation wasn’t exactly part of the ritual, was it?

He made a hand motion like he was drinking from his thumb and when she smiled, he figured she understood. He hesitated to leave her alone on the dance floor but she was clearly having fun. And he needed to get his head out of his own arse.

—

When Ross did finally return, drinks in hand, he saw Demelza was no longer on the dance floor but had migrated closer to the bar, where it wasn’t quite so loud. And although Ross had been gone less than ten minutes, she’d already been approached by another man. 

No, this was a boy not a grown man. His haircut, the carefully curated look of casual-but-impeccable tshirt, the pristine leather jacket, as well as the way he tossed his head and squared his shoulders, all gave Ross the impression he was someone with money, used to getting what he wanted. And right now it looked like he wanted Demelza.

Demelza was smiling but her body language didn’t give much away. 

I wonder if that’s what her Francis had looked like, he thought in a flicker of possessive jealousy. He’d never before thought about him or Paul or Jim or any of Demelza’s past boyfriends, certainly not with any sort of resentment or envy. Now his skin prickled with an alarm he hadn’t felt since he was a soldier. But he wasn’t quite himself tonight and he certainly wasn’t stopping to think his feelings through.

Just then the boy reached over and touched Demelza’s elbow. She didn’t recoil but instead leaned forward and put her own hand on his arm, gently moving it away. It was a diplomatic and mature gesture Ross supposed, but the whole scene was too close for comfort. He wasted no time crossing the room to return to her side.

“This is for you,” he said, handing Demelza the plastic cup and ignoring the boy still standing beside her. It took all Ross’s inner strength not to put his hand on her back or around her waist to mark his territory.

“Thank you,” she mouthed, whether it was for the drink or the rescue, didn't really matter. She took a sip and laughed.

“Erm, Ross? This isn’t water…”

“No, it's vodka and lime. I’m having the same but if you'd prefer water I can…”

“I’m Max…” the boy began but Ross didn’t even acknowledge he’d been spoken to. It was Demelza who responded.

“This is my boyfriend, Ross,” she said, stepping just a few inches closer to Ross. “Ross, Max is from Plymouth.”

“We’re practically neighbours,” the boy laughed.

“Yeah, not quite,” Ross said. “You’re making short work of that, would you like another?” he asked Demelza and engaged Max no further.

“Am I? I’d better slow down then. It’s just cool and it’s so hot in here.” She gathered her hair up off her neck and shoulders for a moment, exposing her smooth skin. She smiled at him, her face glistening.

Ross’s eyes traveled down to her delicate collarbone, then to the swell of her breasts just visible at the neckline of her top. He took a drink from his cup when what he wanted to do was put his mouth to hers.

Her eyes met his with a spark of recognition. Of course she knew what he was thinking. He’d never been good at hiding his desire for her.

“Okay, Ross, drink up,” she laughed. “I came here to dance!” 

He once again followed her out on the dance floor. Was it possible the music had gotten worse? It seemed to be the same note over and over again with a completely unsyncopated rhythm. Suddenly he felt old, his poor sleep the night before finally catching up with him. He took some relief in seeing that Max was nowhere to be found.

At least I won’t have to have a fucking dance battle with that little kid, he thought bitterly.

But Demelza seemed impervious to his changed mood and continued dancing around him in a tighter and tighter orbit, until she was touching him. She hung her arms around his neck and swayed her body side to side while looking into his eyes with a devilish intensity. Her hands dragged down his front and her bent knees brought her lower and lower to the floor before she popped back up level with him, purposely brushing against his front as she did so. 

Ross put one hand on her waist but otherwise froze and just watched her move. Clearly she must have known what she was doing–what effect it would have on him, or on anyone else who was close by. She moved his hand lower on to her bum and closed her eyes as he began to move again in time with her.

Suddenly it was all too much.

“Come,” he finally said and took her by the hand. 

Notes:

“No man wants his woman to be one that other men don't desire....But every man wants his woman to be one that other men don't get.” Those were Winston Graham’s words from The Four Swans (I played with just a bit).

Chapter 72: Hunger

Notes:

This chapter is a bit NSFW. If that's not your thing then skip ahead, although there is a tender scene at the end (through Andrea's eyes) you might not want to miss.

Ross wasn’t sure where he was headed but he knew what he was seeking. Not the alley–although fresh air might feel nice, it would be far too risky. The last thing they needed was to be seen by police, and a club like this would surely have swarms of eager cops buzzing around it. There was a dark corridor beyond the bar but that still wouldn’t be private enough. Signs marked sets of toilets both upstairs and down. A thought struck him–it was ridiculous but it would have to do. He didn’t want to stop now.

“The Ladies’?” Demelza laughed as they stumbled down the staircase. 

It was a gamble. The women’s toilets were more likely to be occupied than the Gents’ but they also somehow felt safer or at least cleaner to Ross. And there’d be more stalls–another requirement. But he was hardly thinking rationally any more.

He’d chosen wisely. The downstairs toilets were less frequented than the ones upstairs and as their luck would have it, even though the club was packed, there was no one else about when he and Demelza slipped in together. Through the walls–or was it the ceiling?–they could hear and even feel the pulse of the music above them. Otherwise it was quiet.

There was no doubt in his actions. He knew exactly what he wanted and what he was doing. He led her to a far stall and locked the door behind them, then without pausing, he turned to her, pressing her against the wall. 

One of his hands was already under her top, the other hand first pushed her skirt up then worked its way back down her legs. His mouth was desperate on her neck. She threw one arm up in the air in breathless submission, the other she used to help Ross gain access to whatever he sought. 

“Ross,” she whispered.

Her top was practically up at her collarbone now and she tugged her bra down slightly to expose her nipple to his tongue. He pounced and grazed with his whole mouth in a way she usually liked. She gasped and tugged his head to her to tell him this time was no different. Her hips moved closer to him, brushing against him teasingly, then she wrapped one leg around him. 

The tease was over. Her body was pulsing too. 

He meant to caress the silk that stretched across her backside with the reverence it deserved but his impatient fingers moved on their own and instead they slipped inside her front. He groaned with delight at what he found there.

His desire needed no further stoking–and apparently neither did hers. They were both ready, already further down the path before they’d even known they'd begun. 

Dancing had been its own foreplay.

Was it like that for the others still upstairs? What if he had just only met her that night on the dance floor, would he have gotten so worked up so quickly that he'd have pulled her into this toilet stall to satisfy his urges? Or was he so bold because he did know her, every inch of her? Her young, firm flesh, her legs, her belly, her breasts. Right now it was those breasts he just couldn’t get enough of.

“Ross,” she whispered again. “Don’t stop. I want you so much right now. Are you goin’ to…”

Yes, I’m going to fuck you. 

He couldn’t speak any words but he answered all the same. He let go of her for just a moment to unzip his fly and tug down his own pants. She took him in her hands while he managed to roll her panties to her knees; she wriggled them down the rest of the way until they pooled at her ankles, then she gingerly stepped out of them without letting him go. 

Now he paused. The stall wall was too flimsy to thrust up against and besides, at any moment someone could arrive to occupy the other side. Behind the toilet was a high ledge that housed the plumbing works, but even in that heated moment he thought clearly enough to know he wouldn't want her face or hands or any part of her anywhere near that questionable surface. Finally he sat down and pulled her towards him. She opened her mouth fully to kiss him as she settled her legs on either side, then she took her prize in her hand yet again, this time to guide him inside her.

He closed his eyes and did his best to contain a moan. It came out a hiss that matched her gasps. She stretched out her arm to press against the wall for support. He reached around her back to grip her shoulder, to pull her down closer to him. His other hand kept her leg lifted just slightly.

“Oh,” she cried. It sounded loud in his ear but they were still alone. Perhaps they were the only people on earth at that moment. 

Somewhere in his animal memory he was reminded of another such furtive encounter he’d had with this very woman, when he’d acted on this same undeniable hunger. But now his mind swam in pleasure and he had no desire to analyze what was happening or why it felt so good. He just knew he never wanted it to end.

But of course it did.

He finished first–a curious relief, as though he’d finally been purged of some demon. Then while he was still inside her, he touched her just enough until her body clenched and shuddered around him.

“Demelza,” he whispered as she clung to him, her breath heavy on his neck, her damp face pressed against his.

Almost immediately, he considered shifting into self-torture mode as the shame of what he’d asked her to do just now came into clearer focus. But her gentle laugh in his ear and her even more tender kiss on his sweaty curls, pulled him back.

“Thank you,” she said. “Now I can cross that off my list.”

“List?” he stammered.

“And surprisingly, you seem to have a lot of familiarity with women’s toilets, Ross,” she teased.

“That? In a toilet was on your list?” he asked, trying to catch up. 

“No, in fact, I had no idea I wanted that at all. But I suspect that was a once in a lifetime experience,” she laughed again. “And I doubt it could ever be that good again. You’ve spoiled me forever.” She sighed and said no more but he understood what she meant. She had no plans to seek that thrill again, not with him and certainly never with another man.

If that had been Ross’s goal–to claim her, to mark her as his own if only for the night–then he’d accomplished his aim. Now the guilt flowed over him just as the blood returned to his brain. He’d used her, plain and simple.

I’m sorry. He tried to speak but she was already moving on.

With a quick kiss to his temple, she gingerly stood up and began to tidy herself and adjust her clothes.

“I love you,” he said instead.

“Oh, I know that,” she looked down at him with the same smile she’d worn all night, evidently still untarnished. 

“Come on,” he said, “I believe you said you came here to dance.”

—

They managed to slip out of the toilets unseen and conspiratorially they climbed the dark stairs back up to the pulsing main floor of the club. 

“Look, Ross!” Once again she had to shout to be heard. She was pointing to the ceiling that stretched high above them. 

Perched on one of the steel rafters were two small birds the size of tits or chickadees. How she’d spotted them was a surprise to him but it was just like her. And whether they had entered willingly driven by curiosity or flown in accidentally and were now trapped, Ross couldn’t say. They looked out of place. It stirred something in him he couldn't name.

Perhaps she felt it too.

“Come on Ross.” Now it was her turn to take his hand in hers. “Let’s go home.”

–

Verity and Andrea’s flat was located on a relatively quiet street but sounds still came up through the open windows Passing cars, some apparently quite proud of their speakers, and even the occasional shout from the road. As exhausted as Ross was, he doubted he’d sleep through such disruptions. He wondered how long it had taken Verity to get used to city living–if she had at all.

“I can’t believe it's so late,” Demelza laughed. She’d just returned from the bathroom, her sexy club clothes replaced with one of Ross’s t-shirts. The night’s makeup had also been removed but her fresh bare face still beamed with happiness.

Ross had already stretched out on their makeshift bed and felt the late hour in every bone in his body. He swallowed whatever complaint he had and patted the spot next to him, eager for her to join him. 

“You look like you’re wide awake,” Ross teased. “Don’t tell me you’ve a second wind?”

“No, I’m knackered too,” she smiled. She certainly didn’t look tired. 

“You know you shouldn’t give your personal details to strangers, especially when you're in a club,” Ross said, then immediately regretted he’d done so. Still, it had been on his mind for some time.

“What? Ross? Are you really goin’ on about that–about Max?” she laughed then switched off the light, stepping carefully over her bag and their other possessions cluttering the floor. 

Once in bed, she had to stop herself from wiggling too much as she moved closer to him. Ross knew how hard it was for her to keep still but they’d learned the night before that everytime they shifted, the mattress lost a little more of its inflation. If this night was anything like the last, almost all the air would be gone by morning. 

“I hardly said much at all, if you must know. He asked me if I came there often…” she said.

“Ugh…did he really?” Ross groaned.

“Yeah, I couldn’t believe it either. So I just said that I wasn't from Manchester and he guessed the Cornwall part because well, once I open my mouth it's hard for me to disguise, isn't it? But I didn't tell him where we’re from, only ‘north coast’ and kept it vague. Don’t worry, he won’t come knockin’ at our door,” she explained. “I know how to look after myself, Ross,” she added earnestly. 

She’d have had lots of dodgy fellows lurking in the corners of her life growing up as she did, where she did, with no real adult protection and supervision. Most days Ross pushed away the thoughts of her life before she settled at Nampara. But while he might be able to conveniently forget it, she wouldn’t.

 “I know you do,” he said and pulled her into his arms. This time it wasn’t possessive, but instead fueled by a desire to offer her comfort and reassurance.  

“Thank you, Ross,” Demelza said. 

“For what?” he asked and brushed a curl away from her face, tucking it gently behind her ears.

“For such a lovely night. It was brilliant.”

“I didn't ruin it for you?”

“Oh no…hardly. And you added your own brand of excitement,” she laughed lightly. 

“Yes, you already thanked me for that.” 

“Well, then thank you for this whole holiday. It was lovely.”

“Was? It's not over yet,” he reminded her with a kiss. “Our flight doesn't leave until early evening  so we have the whole day tomorrow to walk around some more, and catch up with Verity and Andrea. Eat some more–I know your appetite.”

She said nothing and let out the smallest sigh, one that almost sounded like a gasp. Her arms wrapped around him tighter and she pressed her face to his chest. 

It was then he realised her cheeks were damp. Tears had gathered in the corner of her eyes and just now were rolling down.

“Demelza?” he asked. “What is it? Good god, did I…do something?” 

“No, no. You’re perfect,” she snuffled softly. “It’s just…I don’t ever want things to change, Ross.”

“Me neither,” he whispered into her hair and gripped her to him. He hoped his arms could convey what he meant when once again words failed him. 

What could he say? Of course things would change–that’s what happens in life, and certainly they were so new in their relationship and she so young. Whether they invited it or not, change was barreling towards them full speed.  

“Go to sleep, my love. You’re here with me now.”

“Yes, Ross.”

—

“James? Where the hell are you, you scoundrel?” Andrea hissed. She was trying to keep her voice down since their guests were still asleep in the tiny room off the kitchen. She and Verity affectionately referred to it as ‘the study’ but it was a useless space, crammed with all manner of odds and ends that had yet to find their proper home in the tiny flat now shared by two people. “You’ll want your breakfast, you silly cat,” she tried coaxing.

James, the wayward tabby, meowed loudly to let Andrea know she was getting closer in her search. He was apparently less concerned about waking guests than she’d been.

The door to the study was ajar just enough that Andrea could peer inside and see the cat sitting proudly on the edge of the nearly deflated air mattress. Of course she should have guessed his razor sharp claws had something to do with the slow leak the night before.

“You are a shit host, you know,” she scolded him. 

Once James saw the cat food can in Andrea’s hand he gave up his perch and ran to his dish.

Before she closed the door Andrea looked again at Ross asleep on his belly, his arm draped heavily over Demelza curled up against him. Even though he was far from awake–or so his snoring told her–there was something about his body that revealed he was content. 

It was a warm and moving scene.

Quietly she pulled the door shut.

“Oh you found the little bastard,” Verity laughed. “You abandoned me last night, my boy, where did you go? Off to find another warm body?” She picked up the cat and kissed his soft fur. Patiently he allowed her to do so then rubbed his face against hers to mark her as part of his territory.

“Ver, I thought you said your cousin Ross was dark and brooding? All I’ve seen is a man rather happy with life and desperately in love,” Andrea asked.

“Yes, he’s changed. Love will do that,” Verity said. “That and a little good fortune after years of bad.”

“I misjudged him,” Andrea said. “I thought for sure he’d have to be overbearing or even controlling in that relationship with such an age difference. But she holds her own and they seem to have an easy companionship. I mean she’s great though, so what’s not to like?”

“Yes they do enjoy each other’s company, which I believe is the point of a relationship?”

“You think?” Andrea laughed and kissed Verity’s head. “They’re in for a load of heartache though,” she added.

“What?” Verity looked up with surprise.

“Oh come on, Ver, don’t you see it? When she goes off to uni or school or whatever she does next? That’s going to be hard for them but in very different ways for each of them so they won’t be able to share the pain exactly.”

“You sound like you speak from experience?” Verity laughed lightly. “Well, I’m not going to wake them now from whatever sweet dreams they’re having. Let them have their final days of summer, Andrea, in each other’s arms without interference from the outside world. None of us know what the future will bring.”

Notes:

Ross’s reflection on just how much they both are already erm…”worked up” is borrowed (in sentiment if not the exact same chaste context) from “I cannot fix on the hour, or the spot, or the look or the words, which laid the foundation. It is too long ago. I was in the middle before I knew that I had begun.”--Pride and Prejudice, Jane Austen.

“I know your appetite,” is of course a playful nod to Debbie Horsfield’s scripts from S1:4.

Chapter 73: Gossamer

“Demelza?” Demelza? Calling for her as soon as he’d entered the house had become such a force of habit that Ross often wasn’t even sure what he wanted—although if he stopped to ask himself he’d see the answer was ‘just her’. “Demelza?” He tried again when got no reply.

He walked towards the muffled voices in the kitchen only to find, to his disappointment, Prudie and Jinny at work there. “Where’s Demelza?” he asked without saying hello.

“Hush you, Captain,” Prudie replied without turning from the stove. It was somewhere between a snuffle and a snarl. “Shoutin’ any louder isn't goin’ to make her suddenly appear…”

It will if she couldn't hear me the first time, he thought but, wisely, decided to keep to himself.

“Okay…” He took a deep breath and tried again. “Can you please tell me where she is?”

“She’s at the shops, Mister Ross,” Jinny said. A bit too meekly, he noted. Something was amiss and he didn’t like it.

“Oh?” he asked and looked at his watch. It was half six.  

“She’ll be back soon enough,” Prudie said.

And dinner? He wanted to ask but by the state of the kitchen he thought that a sore point. Some charred courgette lay abandoned in a pool of oil on a plate, wilted asparagus sat untouched on the work surface. The acrid smells of smoke and lemon cleaner tickled his nose.

“Don’t be givin’ me that look,” Prudie huffed, reading his mind. “We’ve been doin’ our best here alone, Jinny and me. Only so much two bodies can manage.”

“It isn’t Demelza’s fault,” Jinny quickly apologised. She’d rightly caught Prudie’s irritation at Demelza’s absence but had also misunderstood Ross’s anger. 

How could Jinny possibly know he felt as though he’d somehow moved backwards, returning to an earlier time when his household was mismanaged, his stomach never satisfied, his orders directly ignored. But she was right--it wasn’t Demelza’s fault.

“Demelza only just got home herself when she had to turn ‘round again to Trembath’s because of my…” Jinny continued.

“Shh!” Prudie barely opened her mouth but her sharp inhalation was enough to silence Jinny mid sentence. There was something Ross wasn’t to know.

“Tell me, have you made any preparations for the weekend guests?” His irritability was continuing to grow.

“It's only Thursday,” Prudie said.

“And tomorrow is Friday?” He hadn’t meant to sound so sarcastic but it had to be said.  

This next round of weekend guests, a party of four, would be checking in any time after 3PM. There was no way Demelza would leave all the preparations for Prudie and Jinny to sort out tomorrow, and since she had school all day, she’d no doubt be up late tonight.

Once again he hated the situation he’d placed her in--and once again he hated himself for having done it.

Must my life run in circles? he thought.

“Ross, darling, you’re just hungry. You get that way when you haven’t eaten--fightin’ the world around you and everyone in it. Have a bite and go sit down. It will all seem better in a moment’s time.” That’s what Demelza would say to him if she were here, wasn’t it?

And I should be ashamed of myself that I put such responsibility on the shoulders of a seventeen year old, he thought. I’m a grown man and should manage my moods, my household, my finances better than this.

“What do you mean Demelza only just got home?” he suddenly thought to ask. “From school? So late?”

“From the surgery,” Prudie said. “Dr. Enys called her ‘round after school today.”

“They must have been short staffed,” Ross mused. “Otherwise Dwight wouldn't dare to ask her on a weekday.”

“So it's fine if they was short staffed?” Prudie tapped her foot in annoyance. “What about we that’s back here? Workin’ our fingers to the bone without even a…”

“I’ll just go finish foldin’ the linens then,” Jinny excused herself, sensibly removing herself from Prudie’s company--and distancing herself from Prudie’s opinions.

“Mind you do it the way Demelza showed you,” Prudie called after her. “And roll the hand towels so you can see the stripes on the side…” She waited a minute until she heard Jinny climbing the stairs, then she turned to Ross in a not so sotto voce. “Can’t see how this is gonna work. That one needs her hand held at every turn, poor girl, and it's me that’s got to do all the educatin’...How am I supposed to get my own chores done when I have to redo all hers?”

“You did a fine job teaching Demelza all those years ago.” Ross tried not to laugh thinking about how chores to Prudie really meant watching telly or playing Candy Crush on her mobile. “And Jinny is far older than Demelza was when she first came here so surely she’ll pick things up even faster.”

“Won’t work, I tell you!” Prudie sat down with emphatic resignation, her knees creaked their own objection. But she didn’t need to say another word--Ross understood it was really Demelza’s company Prudie missed.

She’d better get used to it, he thought with some unexpected bitterness. Next year Demelza would be gone, not just out to the shops but much farther afield. 

Something else was making him feel ill at ease. It was eerily quiet; Demelza wasn’t the only missing soul.

“Prudie? Where’s Garrick?” Ross thought to ask.

“She took him with her. Said she’d neglected him too much lately and wanted some quality time with him. Hmmf!” Prudie moaned. “And in my car--he’s probably gettin’ his muddy paws all over the upholstery!”

“She took a dog to the butcher shop?” Ross laughed.

I hope she knows what she’s doing….

---

 

“Oh this won’t work, will it?” Demelza laughed. 

The parcels in both her arms made it difficult to retrieve the car keys in her pocket and also untie her furry companion who was waiting rather impatiently for her outside Trembath’s butcher shop. He did a little dance when he saw her approach, although it wasn’t clear if his excitement came from being reunited with his mistress or was more inspired by the two kilos of chops she held in her hands. 

“Well, Garrick, my love. Mr. Trembath did give me a little somethin’ for you but I’m not such an easy mark. You’ll need to show me you can be nice and quiet on the drive home before you’ll get a treat from me.” She managed to get the dog’s lead free from the bicycle post without dropping anything.

Eager to show her he could comply. Garrick pulled her towards Prudie’s Mondeo parked nearby.

“Get in then,” she ordered and he climbed into the passenger’s seat, then less-obediently, hopped into the driver’s seat. 

“I know, I know,” she said, trying to reassure him that they’d be on their way soon. The sun was only just setting and the warmth of the day stubbornly lingered on. But a few minutes in the car wouldn't harm him. The window was wound down a few inches, and he immediately tried to shove his snout through the gap, snorting indiscreetly. 

“Woof!” he said.

It had been such a warm autumn, as though summer just couldn’t bear to let go. Demelza had read somewhere that in other cultures, this time of year was called badger summer, old wives summer, summer of ferns, gossamer summer. She liked that one best. It reminded her of the secret webs that had been hidden all summer but only now seemed visible, gleaming in the October sun. She couldn’t help feeling respect for their quiet little weavers and the delicacy and strength of such lace.

It just didn't feel like October. 

Well maybe the early mornings had started to. Demelza would layer up with a cardigan and a jacket for her walk to the bus, foolishly expecting the crisp chill that tickled her nose might continue throughout the day. But without fail, by afternoon the heat would have sneakily built, and she’d be desperate to shed layers, as many as she could without violating the school dress code. To be so uncomfortably overheated while also being confined to airless classrooms seemed a special injustice to students everywhere. It made Demelza feel groggy and uninspired--and resentful. It wasn’t the best start to the school year, although so far her marks hadn’t suffered from her inward rebellion.

At least in the summer months when she got too warm she could roam about freely, seeking shade, or  take off her shoes whenever it suited her. She could even duck her head under the pump in the yard if things got really bad.

Of course those freedoms weren’t the only things she’d been missing about summer holidays. Such a brief period of time really, yet in those glorious three months, everything had changed for her. Everything. They’d had such happiness, she and Ross. It was almost unimaginable. Sometimes it felt like a dream. One they’d quietly and secretly woven.

And now no matter how she longed, there was nothing to be done about it. It was the past and there was no going back, only forward. They were still happy, quite so, even if things were changing and would change even more in the months--and years--ahead.

Was she making a mistake, aiming so high? Did she really even want what she was striving so hard for? Some days she wasn’t sure. But it hardly mattered. As of today the ball was in motion. 

“I did it!” She’d sung when she waltzed into the Nampara kitchen earlier that afternoon. “I actually did it!”

“Whazzat?” Prudie had turned to ask with her most skeptical brow. She quickly scanned Demelza’s whole body to make sure she still had all her limbs, then she looked again to check that she hadn’t added any piercings or tattoos. Finally satisfied, she nodded that she was listening.

“I submitted my Bristol application!” Demelza announced. “The one with the early deadline of the 15th? It’s probably shit--no matter what Dr. Enys assures me--but I’ve others that aren’t due until January so maybe I can still…Oh Jinny! What’s wrong?” Demelza stopped talking at once when she spied Jinny slumped at the table, head in her hands, shoulders shaking.

“I thought I had set the timer…” Now Jinny openly sobbed.

Only then had Demelza really noticed the traces of smoke that lingered in the air and the pan of something quite charred that lay in front of Jinny. Whatever it had been, it was now burnt beyond recognition.

“That old broiler can be tricky, can’t it?” Demelza had said gently. “I never get the timin’ right myself. Turn your back for a second and well, nevermind this, Jinny. We’ll get this cleared up and sort somethin’ else in its place.”

“Oh?” Prudie huffed. “Haven’t really got much else. We could put a coupla ready-meals in the microwave. Cottage pie maybe?”

“No,” Demelza said decisively. “I’ll just run out and get us somethin’ fresh. Ross won’t be home til later anyway so we’ve plenty of time. Unless you’re in a hurry to be somewhere, Prudie?”

“And I suppose you’d be takin’ my car?” Prudie had asked. 

Now that Demelza had her driving licence she often used Prudie’s car for errands. Prudie pretended to be put out by it but since it saved her the trouble, she mostly handed over the keys to her Mondeo without any real fuss.

“I’ll be back before you know it,” Demelza promised then turned back to Jinny, who looked tired and despondent. “Jinny, this was an easy mistake and no one was hurt, so put it behind you?” 

Jinny sniffed then nodded silently. Slowly she rose to her feet and began shuffling about the kitchen, helping Prudie clear the mess.

On the drive to the shops, Demelza had thought about the two women she’d left behind. It wasn’t going easily for them but she was still hopeful they’d come around. What was the expression? Two cats in a basket? 

Just like that, Demelza’s own good news had been set aside. Maybe it was better she didn’t talk about it. It was a sore spot with Prudie who was having a hard enough time adjusting to recent changes. And poor Jinny didn't have much of a future to look forward to--not one she’d really planned for herself. And then there was Ross. No, she wouldn’t mention her application to Ross, either. Why remind him now of something they’d have to face soon enough?

What happened to no going back, only forward?  

At least Trembath had given her a good deal, as usual. It was a little game they’d played for years now. She’d come in pretending to only want some small amount and he’d tempt her with more and more (“at a discount price”) until she’d walk away with exactly what she wanted in the first place. Today she’d gotten enough for tonight’s dinner and to restock the freezer for later. Once again, she’d managed to keep Prudie’s wretched ready-meals at bay.

Now she was anxious to get home and lose herself in dinner preparations. She knew she really should relinquish more of those tasks to Prudie and even Jinny, but she did find it relaxing and a good way to sort her thoughts before hours of homework.

Garrick too was anxious to get home but for different reasons. His insolent barks grew louder and he pawed at the window to get her attention.

“Oh Garrick, you never…” Demelza sighed. On both the driver and on the passenger side, the window glass was smeared and smudged from Garrick’s wet nose and lolling tongue.

“Prudie won't be happy about that.” Demelza shook her head  “Oh don't look so insulted.” 

She struggled to get the boot unlocked then once her hands were free, retied her ponytail to keep her hair off her neck. 

“Why is it still so hot? The sun’s almost set and it’s October for fuck’s sake,” she muttered.

“Demelza?” 

She knew the voice and was grateful her back was turned so she’d a moment to pull her face together.

So I’m not ‘Miss’ Demelza when it's just we two? she thought as she slammed the boot shut.

“Hello Elizabeth,” Demelza forced a smile. She supposed Elizabeth had a right to shop at the same butcher but somehow she felt meeting her in the carpark was a violation of something sacred.

“How nice to meet you here,” Elizabeth said with her usual polished politeness. “You know, I never thanked you properly for your help this summer, stepping in with Geoffrey Charles on a moment’s notice.”

“Oh no worries,” Demelza said quickly. Somehow accepting Elizabeth’s gratitude made her feel beholden in an uncomfortable way. “And how are you and your family?” she thought to ask. She had to work harder to find the cordial phrases that seemed to always be at Elizabeth’s fingertips.

“Well, quite well. Thank you. Charles is much improved.”

“Glad to hear it,” Demelza responded. Now she was trying not to sound too impatient. On such a warm day, the clock was ticking from the moment she closed her shopping in the boot. And confining Garrick to a car that would soon start reeking of fresh, juicy meat wasn’t the best idea either. 

“And Verity’s visit was so good for us all,” Elizabeth went on.

And you have me to thank for that, Demelza thought.

“Yes, it was lovely to see Verity again,” Demelza replied. 

“I hear Ross visited her in Manchester last month,” Elizabeth said. “And how is Ross?”

This time it took her exactly thirty seconds to ask after Ross, she laughed to herself. 

“Ross is well. Carnmore just won a gold medal at the Bodmin Festival for their new IPA so he’s enjoyin’ that success right now.” 

That uptick in business was also exhausting him and keeping him away from Nampara late in the evening, but Elizabeth didn't need to know that. 

“Oh? Ross has a new ale?” Elizabeth asked. 

“Bodmin Beast. It’s a session ale. Powerfully hopsy--well of course it is, they’re Nampara hops after all--but it’s very balanced. The hop character is quite citrusy,” she said, rather impressed with her ability to sound like she’d actually tried the beer and not just heard others rate it. 

Whether Demelza liked beer or not, she was proud of this accomplishment--it meant more than another medal. She saw how it might finally eliminate any doubts Ross still held about joining with Carnmore.

And why shouldn’t she share in Ross’s pride? In many ways, any success of his was hers as well, especially when it came to the hopyard. Legally she had no claims to it, but her heart had been invested in it for years now.

“I must try it. And I must ask him how he enjoyed his visit to Manchester,” Elizabeth said.

Demelza took a deep breath and said nothing. Without realising it, she took a step towards the driver’s side door. Garrick barked again, annoyed that she was taking so long.

Of course it made sense that neither Verity nor Ross had mentioned to anyone that Demelza also went to Manchester. A grown man travelling with his teenaged hired help, for pleasure and not for business? It would just be asking for gossip to follow--gossip that would of course be true. Demelza understood that, she really did. 

But to be completely erased from a story that involved the people she loved most--and now she could count Andrea in that number--irked her, and in a way that caught her off guard. Elizabeth could move freely in the Poldark world, but Demelza was still consigned to the shadows. Would that ever change? How long would she need to wait?

Get a hold of yourself, she tried to shake it off. It doesn't matter what she thinks. You know you were there and you know how he loved being with you. In a flash she recalled his hungry mouth on her skin, his hands running up and down her body. It was her that he’d pulled to that toilet stall, not Elizabeth.

“I believe Ross enjoyed himself very much,” Demelza said, biting her lip to contain a laugh. “I’m so sorry but I’d better be on my way. They’ll be wonderin’ what’s keepin’ me. Say hello to Geoffrey-Charles for me!” 

“Yes, of course.” Elizabeth nodded, looking a little embarrassed. 

She’s probably worried she’s delayed Ross’s supper, Demelza thought as she gingerly opened the car door without allowing Garrick to escape. 

But whatever Elizabeth thought--even if she suspected the real reason Demelza could speak of Ross’s pleasurable holiday--it didn’t really matter in the end.

I know what I know, Demelza repeated to herself as she settled in the driver’s seat.

She switched on the ignition of the car and began her journey home.

Notes:

“Must my life run in circles” is a refrain that Winston Graham often has Ross thinking, especially in The Angry Tide (that’s pretty much the theme in that book). Prudie’s rant about “educatin’” and her claims that “it won’t work”--in this case with Jinny--was a riff on the scene in Debbie Horsfield’s script from s1.4 when Prudie and Jud are expressing their distress adjusting to Demelza’s elevated status.

“Two cats in a basket” is the phrase Ross uses in Poldark: A Novel of Cornwallto describe Demelza and Verity when they first meet. And when referring to a summer that just won’t let go, I was playing with this beautiful line also from Poldark: A Novel of Cornwall: ”Autumn lingered on as if fond of its own perfection.“ Finally the phrase “the delicacy and strength of lace” comes from an essay with that title by Leslie Marmon Silko, one I read way back in my second year of university. It has been an image/concept that has stuck with me for decades.

Here’s more on less “colonial” terms of a warm autumn:

https://slate.com/human-interest/2016/10/lets-choose-a-new-name-for-indian-summer.html#:~:text=Sweden%20can%20have%20a%20gr%C3%A4vlingssommar,Advertisement

Chapter 74: Sketches of Tomorrow

“There she is…No! I don't want to hear what held you up,” Prudie puffed when Demelza entered the kitchen, her arms laden with Trembath’s neatly wrapped packages. Garrick was close at her heels, remembering her promise of a treat.

“Good, because I don't care to talk about it,” Demelza replied breezily.

“Really? Tell me what happened!”

“Oh come on, Prudie. You’re too easy,” Demelza laughed. “Okay, the lamb is for tomorrow. I thought we could grill it outside since we’ll be sharin’ the kitchen with our guests, and the rest of this should go in the freezer. Except the pork chops. Those are for tonight--they’ll cook quickly if we use the broiler. Only this time, we watch it carefully.”

“Did you go hunting because it looks like you brought home an entire carcass.” Ross leaned against the doorframe and smiled when Demelza’s eyes met his.

“Oh Ross, I didn’t see you there,” Demelza said softly. “You’re home earlier tonight.”

“Have I upset your plans?” he teased.

“Hardly.” She took a step towards him, then paused when she remembered they weren’t alone. She bit her lip but didn't take her eyes off his mouth.

“Come on Jinny, I’ll drive you home,” Prudie rolled her eyes.

“Wait--Jinny, this is for you to take home to Jim’s mother,” Demelza said, setting aside her desire to kiss Ross for just a moment.

“You really didn’t need to do that,” Jinny replied. “But thank you.”

“Oh, it’s nothin’ really, just some sausages,” Demelza said. “We’ve been such loyal customers that Mr. Trembath gives us good deals now and then.”

“He doesn't give me those deals,” Prudie huffed.

“Me neither,” Ross laughed.

“Well, in the end, Trembath’s is cheaper than goin’ to Tesco,” Demelza shook off their teasing. “Oh Jinny, I almost forgot you asked to borrow a cookbook. I have some magazines with good recipes too. Come, let’s pick out which ones you want to start with.”

“She’s just like your mum, that one is,” Prudie said once Demelza and Jinny had left the kitchen. “The way she looks after Jinny and all the Carters too. Reminds me of how Grace took Katherine under her wing.”

“My mother?” Ross had always thought it was his father who had a special concern for Katherine Carter--and for her son.

“‘Course your mum was generous with everyone but she was ‘specially tender with Katherine. T’was Grace that insisted Katherine stay here for a spell too. That was before she married Mr. Carter and before Jim was born.”

“Here? At Nampara? Why don’t I remember any of this?” Ross shook his head.

“You were just a boy, must have only been but seven years old or so. ‘Course back then you were so wrapped up in yer own world. Didn't notice other peoples’ hurts so much.”

“Yes well…” Ross muttered, hoping he’d improved on that score.

“Remember that duck that used to follow you everywhere?” Prudie laughed. “You’d cry and cry when he wasn’t allowed in the house so you vowed to move out to the yard to be with him. Spent about fifteen minutes camped out next to the coop before you got scared of foxes and came in for the night. What was his name? Rasher?”

“Dasher,” Ross mumbled reluctantly. He sometimes disliked that Prudie had these memories from his childhood to hold over him, recollections of a time when he was less in control of his feelings.

“Yes, that was it. Then yer father--Joshua were a rascal--he couldn’t keep from chucklin’ all through Christmas dinner, ‘specially when you asked for seconds.”

“That was Dasher? We ate my pet duck for Christmas?!” Ross sputtered. 

“You really didn't know? You had to be thick not to put two and two together,” Prudie scoffed.

“What’s this?” Demelza asked, as she and Jinny came back into the kitchen.

“Nothing. Just memories of childhood trauma,” Ross grumbled. 

“Poor Ross,” Demelza laughed. “Alright, Prudie. You take Jinny home and I’ll take over here.”

“And may I be of service, my lady?” Ross asked, stepping closer to her, his hand reaching for her waist.

“Yes, Ross,” she smiled then handed him an onion. "You can start by choppin' this."

----

“Demelza?” Ross called. “Come to bed.” 

“Yes, yes, Ross,” she laughed as she emerged from the bathroom. “Aren’t you impatient tonight?” She smiled as she climbed under the covers and snuggled next to him. 

“I only meant you’ve been moving full speed since you got home. You must be exhausted. I hope you weren’t cleaning the bathroom just now?”

“No, just my teeth,” she said. “I’ll get to cleanin’ the rest of the house tomorrow.”

“How will you do that?” He wrapped his arm around her and pulled her closer. “Please tell me you aren't planning on rising early?”

“Oh no,” she assured him. “We don't have classes tomorrow afternoon. They’re havin’ a jobs and internship sesh but since I already did mine this summer, I don’t have to attend. So I’ll have a few hours then to get this place ready before the guests arrive.”

“I wish you’d let Prudie and Jinny handle it,” he sighed.

“Yes, well, I’m workin’ on them. And I think they’re makin’ progress, don’t you?”

“Have I told you how I admire your optimism?” He kissed her head.

“You admire me, huh?” she laughed then rolled over to switch off the light. As she stretched she accidentally knocked a notebook off the bedside table.

“What’s that?” he asked. “Surely you can take a break from studying for some sleep?”

“Oh, this isn’t for school,” she said. “It’s just a little somethin’ I was thinkin’ about…it’s nothin’, really.”

“Show me,” he said softly. He wanted her to know he was as supportive of her ideas as she always was of his.

“Really? Okay...” She shook her head and laughed, then sat up without switching off the light and opened her notebook. “It's just a sketch…”

“It’s a kitchen?” he asked looking at her drawing.

“Not just a kitchen,” she explained. “It’s an open floor plan so that part there is a lounge.”

“I see. I like it,” he said, inviting her to continue her explanation. “And just where is this kitchen?”

“It’s the north barn,” she said. 

“A private kitchen just for you?” he teased. “I can see that after today you might feel that way.”

“No, not for me. It’s meant for guests. I was thinkin’...what if we redid the rooms up there and that’s where we hosted guests, and not in the house?”

“Oh?”

“See this plan takes one of the bedrooms--Jim’s--and adds it to the common area. Of course it would take labour and money--we’d have to kit the place out. All new and pristine. ”

“The house is hardly new nor pristine but that doesn’t seem to deter guests,” he said.

“Well yes, but that’s because the house has lots of space and it feels authentic, so folks forgive the imperfections. Or some of them anyway.”

Period. That’s how Caroline Penvenen had described the farm house. 

“The moment you put someone up in an old barn they have different standards,” she explained. “But I’ve been lookin’ at kitchens and I think we can do it for relatively cheap. That is if you can do the plumbin’ and electric yourself?”

“I can,” he said.

“I think the bath is fine. Just some new paint and maybe new shower doors. And a new mirror. Maybe some wall sconces,” she continued. “Of course this little flat won’t sleep as many people as the house so we’d lose some revenue there.”

“But the house takes so much work to get it ready each time,” he added. “That is a quantifiable expense.”

“Yes, this place would be easier to maintain,” she said. “Jinny could do it and Prudie could as well, after Jinny has her baby.” 

“I like the idea of taking that burden off you completely,” he said. 

Then it hit him--she was making plans because she wouldn’t always be around to tend to Nampara or its guests. Or to him. Next year, he’d be on his own. He exhaled a sigh that was far longer than he’d intended.

“I know takin’ guests back in was my idea so I hope you don’t think I’m complainin’...” she said quickly.

“Demelza, you never complain.” He pulled her back into his arms and kissed her ear. “And school keeps you busier this year. I’m sorry that I didn’t fully take that into consideration when we booked more guests.”

“Ross, you always take me into consideration,” she said and snuggled closer to him.

“Are you cold?” he asked. “Are you shivering?”

“No, I’m just tryin’ to get closer to you,” she answered. “But after this warm autumn, I think I’d actually welcome some cold. A hard frost, snow even.” 

“Be careful what you wish for,” he said. “It will be here soon enough.”

“I know. And I do miss the summer. June or maybe early July.”

“You want both June and snow?” he laughed. “Perhaps you should try another hemisphere.”

“You wantin’ rid of me?” she teased.

“Hardly,” he kissed her lips this time. 

Once again she rolled over to switch off the light.

“Of course before we do anythin’ in the north barn, you need a new truck,” she said. “That’s where your money needs to go first.”

“Demelza…” 

“You can’t argue that, Ross. You’re drivin’ on borrowed time.”

“I would never argue with you, my love,” he laughed.

“You know, Ross, I hope you understand that I don’t mean it,” she said, suddenly sounding oddly solemn. 

“That I should get a new car?”

“No, you’re not required to understand that. You’re required to accept it as a fact of life,” she laughed then turned serious again. “I mean that I wouldn’t really want to go back to June. I love every moment that we’re together. Now, tomorrow, whenever.”

“And we’ve come a long way since June,” he said, then laughed lightly just thinking about it. 

“Yes we have,” she whispered.

“Go to sleep, my love,” he said and stroked her cheek. He didn’t mention that tomorrow would be even busier than today had been. Like her, he wanted just to cherish the present moment, with her in his arms.

“Yes, Ross. I will.”  

Notes:

You may have noticed I played with a few words and phrases from the series (and Debbie Horsfield’s scripts), playing with the context and sometimes reversing the speakers. Demelza thanking Ross for “admiring her” (rather than admiring someone else …you know who) is from s1.4. “You wantin’ rid of me?”--this time said in jest is from s1.2. And “You’re not required to understand...You’re required to accept it as a fact of life” is also from s1.4 (that was such a great episode, sigh). I had fun putting those words in Demelza’s mouth.

Demelza’s generosity to Jinny both in the kitchen patiently teaching her or sending home food for Jim’s mother, is also from the series (s1.4 and s1.8).

Lastly I needed a name for Jim Carter’s mother and settled on Katherine. In the novels, Winston Graham tells us Jim and Jinny had two daughters (besides their son Benjy Ross) so I thought it reasonable that at least one of them was named after a grandparent. Mary just didn't work for where I’m going with that character so Katherine it is.

On a related note, this is my favorite source for all one’s Poldark fic naming needs:
http://winstongraham.yolasite.com/resources/Pol%20Who.pdf

Chapter 75: Hard Frost

Notes:

Dear Readers, please note the updated tags for character death and suicide. If you feel these topics are too much for you then I assure you that you can pick this story up again later (whenever Ch 78 is posted).

Here are some resources if you or someone you know are struggling with depression, self-harm, suicidal thoughts, or just need to talk to someone. Please reach out to one of the services listed below. They are ready to help and want to hear from you.

If you are, or someone you know is, in immediate danger, please call a local emergency telephone number or go immediately to the nearest emergency room.

In the US the suicide hotline is 845 2738 255

This is a list of international suicide hotlines: http://www.suicide.org/international-suicide-hotlines.html

Here are tumblr’s counselling resources: https://tumblr.zendesk.com/hc/en-us/articles/231885028-Counseling-and-prevention-resources

-----

The din of a mobile that was both ringing and vibrating was enough to wake Demelza. She’d been dreaming, and in her sleep the buzz seemed to belong to electric clippers shearing sheep. But the scene had quickly taken a frustrating, unsettling turn when she looked out at the endless sea of beasts waiting to be shorn. Pushing against her, bleating shrilly, calling out in fear. And she had only the one clipper and no one to help her. It was impossible. Hopeless.

She was glad to be woken from this, and when she made out Ross’s voice saying her name, she was even more relieved.

“Demelza?” Ross called from the bathroom. She could hear the water splashing the porcelain around him, and imagined his naked body under the shower jet. Maybe she should spring out of bed and join him before he was done. She put her face to the empty pillow he’d left behind and inhaled.

“My love?” he called again and this time she sat up. “I think that’s my mobile,” he said. “Can you just check who is calling? They’ve been rather insistent.”

“Yes! Got it,” she cried. After so many months, it still made her grin and squeal on the inside every time Ross used a pet name for her. ‘Love’ and sometimes ‘darling’ seemed to be his favourites. He’d called her ‘babe’ just the once and she’d inadvertently grimaced, as it had reminded her of Jim. Ross had caught her response and without needing an explanation never used it again.

And the enjoyment of waking up in Ross's bed also hadn't yet faded for Demelza, although she sometimes still found herself thrown that the sun was in the wrong place. In her room, the bed faced the window so any morning light went straight in her eyes, rousing her at once. That usually didn’t bother her, in fact, being a farmhand who had to be up early with the rest of the barnyard, she’d found it a sort of useful alarm clock. But in Ross’s room--their room--the windows were on either side of the bed from the west so the light came in from behind, softer, more diffused. And it usually meant she slept longer. 

Unless it was Ross that woke her. 

This autumn had meant a shift in many of their routines. If Ross had Carnmore business in Truro and she was up late revising, they found they just didn't always have the energy at night for sex. Demelza knew Ross was exhausted and she was too, so she never complained--she was content with a good cuddle before falling asleep in his arms. She didn't mind the change because, to her delight, she’d discovered Ross had a new predilection for making love in the early morning. Often, she’d open her eyes to find him close by, softly kissing her neck or ear. Playfully affectionate but ready to pounce after a good night’s sleep.

And once she was awake, whatever the cause, she often lingered lazily in their bed, liking everything about it--the gentle creak of the old mahogany frame, their smell together on the sheets, even the dip in the centre of the mattress. Ross’s bed was bigger than hers in the barn though the extra width hardly mattered--they still slept clinging to each other with hardly any space between them. Just earlier that morning, when Demelza had gotten up to pee, she’d found Ross’s arms and legs draped across her, his head face down in the pillow but close to hers, as though he’d thrown his body over hers to protect her from a grenade. She’d laughed as she carefully climbed out from under him, trying her best not to disturb him, then slipped back into his tangled embrace once she returned.

Now she looked on the table by the bed-- Ross’s side --and saw his mobile had gone silent. The number of the recent caller was not one she recognised nor was it identified as one of Ross’s saved contacts. She wondered if perhaps it wasn’t so urgent afterall when again the sound of another mobile startled her.

“Demelza?” Ross wasn’t being impatient, maybe just curious, and Demelza now heard him shut off the tap to come investigate himself.

“Oh,” she called. “That’s mine now!” She stretched her naked body to reach the phone she’d left charging on the window sill overnight, and had just managed to grasp it, when it slipped from her hand. It hit the old oak floor, continuing its buzz. She had to scramble now and was out of breath and laughing in amusement when she answered it without first checking the caller.

“Oh hello...I wasn’t expectin’ to hear from you, not so early anyway--is everythin’ okay?” she said with surprise, just as Ross’s mobile began sounding again. He entered the room wrapped only in a towel and she handed his phone to him, her brows knit in concern at these early morning calls.

“It’s Jinny,” she mouthed silently to him, pointing to her mobile.

He nodded and answered his. 

“This is Ross Poldark,” his booming voice filled the room.

She couldn’t hear what Jinny was saying, so she waved Ross away and without dressing, started to walk towards the bathroom to be alone. Jinny was speaking quickly and in such a hysterical pitch that made her words impossible to make out. Behind her Demelza heard Ross again.

“Good god!” he cried.

Then turning her attention back to her own mobile, Demelza caught the one sentence from Jinny that mattered most.

“Jim is dead.”

------

It was a quiet drive to Dartmoor prison. Prudie had left a George Michael CD in the player that had started up as soon as Ross turned the ignition, but Demelza discreetly switched it off without a word. It was uncharacteristic of her to not play with the radio or plug in her mobile to access her own music, but everything about this trip was unusual. 

Ross had agreed to act on behalf of Jim’s mum, to collect Jim’s personal effects and sign the papers to release the body so the undertaker could bring Jim back home for burial. Ross wasn’t inclined to engage Clymer to do these tasks, although they were the sort one would ask of a solicitor. He still had no faith in the man after Jim’s bungled sentencing and felt someone closer to the family should assume these responsibilities. Whether he was driven by pride or some sort of archaic understanding of an honour debt, it would still never be enough to assuage Ross’s guilt over his misplayed hand in the whole affair. 

And Mrs. Carter was most grateful. Her health had only grown more fragile since her hip surgery and it was clear she wasn’t up for such a taxing trip. Nor did she have the emotional strength to speak to the prison authorities in person about the circumstances of her son’s death.

“Besides,” Mrs. Carter had explained to Ross, “I can’t leave Jinny’s side when she’s due to have that baby any day. Not now...when that little ‘un is the only hope I have left in this world.”

On her own, Demelza had made up her mind that she would accompany Ross, and without much fuss, informed him of her intentions. He protested weakly for a moment then saw how steady she’d been thus far--she’d be useful and welcome company on such a sombre mission. She too was part of Jim’s extended support network and no doubt in the months to come, she’d be called upon to offer care and assistance to Jinny in a way Ross couldn’t. It made sense for Demelza to have all the information she could gather firsthand and not just what was filtered through Ross. 

It had also been Demelza's wise idea to take Prudie’s car, since the trip was just a little farther than their usual jaunts around the countryside on farm business. Another day Prudie might have fussed or feigned some objections, but not today. She too understood these were unusual circumstances.

“It was a hard frost last night,” Demelza observed as they pulled out of the Nampara yard. 

“All the shallow pools have frozen already,” Ross replied.

“It almost looks like snow on the grass but where the sun hits the fields they appear purple. It’s pretty but it doesn't seem right…”

“What doesn't?” Ross asked.

“To be admirin' the scenery with Jim dead and Jinny bereft,” she said softly as she looked out the window. She absently put her long fingers to the steamed glass but this time didn’t trace any hearts or stars as she used to when she was younger.

“I know. And yet…” He didn't finish the thought. What was to say? Life goes on, better enjoy it whilst you can? Or that Jim would have wanted her to continue to enjoy the beauty around her? 

That was a pack of lies. Jim never really noticed anything himself; even when he liked Demelza he wasn’t all that interested in her happiness, just how she made him feel.

Ross felt ashamed at the bitterness that was taking root. No, better to say nothing so as not to make Demelza feel worse than she already did. This all must be so new for her. 

She’s so little experience with death, he thought. And that’s one area in which I’d rather not have her schooled further.

 

Once they reached the motorway, they found traffic moved swiftly with no stand stills, although that might have been due to the hour; it was just after the big morning commute but before any midday rush.  

“Depending on our timing, we may be less lucky on the return. And of course we may still encounter roadworks,” Ross said. 

“No use gettin’ anxious about that now, Ross,'' Demelza said. “Let’s just take one step at a time.” 

Of course she was right but he found focusing on roads was easier than preparing himself for what lay just ahead of them. He reached out and gripped her hand in solidarity. She squeezed his in return then went back to looking out the window, lost in thought.

He wasn’t troubled by her silence. Whether it was grief or her own worries, or just the busy details of day to day life running through her head, she had a right to her own thoughts.

Notes:

Some ideas and phrases borrowed from Poldark sources with love and respect. Ross’s preference of making love in the mornings is mentioned in one of the later books, I believe. Demelza fretting about enjoying something when Jinny is "bereft" comes from Debbie Horsfield’s S1.6. And the brief conversation about the hard frost was one I had started (and had already come up with the chapter title) when I recalled this snippet from Winston Graham’s Warleggan (this is also one of my favorite baby Jeremy scenes):

‘There’s going to be a hard frost,’ he said. ‘Some of the shallower pools are freezing already.’

‘Yes, I thought the same,’ she said. ‘There’s all the signs. That sky...Jeremy, darling, where did you get the jam!’

The little boy had come tottering in carrying a large jar from the lip of which a dark crimson streak was already beginning to escape. On the very verge of dropping it he was able to present it to his father before it slipped from his hands. Then he sat down with a crump on the floor and said, ‘Gar!’

‘Thank you,’ said Ross, ‘a very friendly gesture...’ (Warleggan, Book Two, Ch 5, pg 154).

Chapter 76: Grief's Mysteries

Notes:

Here are some resources if you or someone you know are struggling with depression, self-harm, suicidal thoughts, or just need to talk to someone. Please reach out to one of the services listed below. They are ready to help and want to hear from you.

If you are, or someone you know is, in immediate danger, please call a local emergency telephone number or go immediately to the nearest emergency room.

In the US the suicide hotline is 845 2738 255

This is a list of international suicide hotlines: http://www.suicide.org/international-suicide-hotlines.html

Here are tumblr’s counselling resources: https://tumblr.zendesk.com/hc/en-us/articles/231885028-Counseling-and-prevention-resources

-----

Once inside the Dartmoor complex, Ross and Demelza were shown into a little windowless room, one in which prisoners might meet their lawyers privately, and not the more open general visiting area. They waited another quarter of an hour before a tall man in a smart suit came in and sat opposite them at the white laminate table.

He introduced himself as Thomas Blundell, but barely lingered on his own title--Deputy Governor--and instead spent unnecessary time apologising that he hadn’t shown them to his office (they were redecorating) and for the absence of the Governor, who was in London and was unable to meet them that morning. 

They hadn’t expected to meet the highest in command and this junior calling such attention to it had them both on alarm. Neither Ross nor Demelza said anything but each caught the other’s eyes--just a sidewise glance that confirmed they were thinking similar thoughts. 

To Ross’s surprise it was Demelza who spoke first, cutting Blundell off mid sentence.

“Mr. Blundell, we’ve been told Jim took his own life,” she said, her voice firm and focused. If she’d found anything intimidating about the institutional setting or the officious man sitting across from her, it didn’t register on her face or in her demeanour. Of course it was possible that her knees were shaking and her stomach was most likely in knots, but only Ross would ever guess that. 

“Can you walk us through how that might have happened given your security protocols?” An accusation she’d disguised as a polite question.

Ross almost choked. His instinct was to laugh, amazed and amused by her steel composure, her crisp questioning. Instead he found himself speechless. But Demelza wasn’t looking to Ross for any approval--she had an aim and was going to pursue it. Her eyes were trained on the deputy, who at once put his hand to his necktie in discomfort and shifted in his seat. 

They hadn’t made a plan of what to ask or say so her actions caught Ross off guard. Perhaps they’d find it a mistake that she’d been so blunt. Didn’t men like this require a bit of flattery or even grovelling? Still Ross was proud of her and knew she was motivated by a selfless, sincere love for Jim and his family. There was no ego, no agenda of her own at play here. They needed answers and perhaps now they’d get them. No doubt if Ross had spoken those exact words, they would have come across as aggressive, provocative, and gotten them nowhere. Ross refrained from smiling but nodded his unwavering support for her. He exhaled and sat back in his chair, curious to see how this would unfold.

Blundell spoke even more rapidly--another tirade of apologies and empty-worded vaguely legal phrases meant to deny any culpability on the part of the staff--then opened a file folder with photographs. He began to slide them across the table then thought twice as perhaps Demelza, a woman, might find them too shocking. He mumbled a warning to Ross about “images too disturbing for a lady’s eyes.” 

From his seat next to her, Ross couldn’t see Demelza’s face but guessed it remained impassive, and without releasing Blundell from her gaze, her hand reached across and pulled the photographs closer to her and Ross. Only now did she dare to look at Ross, just a flicker of horror, of disgust at such a senseless loss, a response she’d only reveal to him. He covered her hand with his then they examined the photographs together silently.

Somehow Jim had managed to fashion a noose out of a bedsheet and left alone just long enough, he’d hanged himself in his cell. It had been a shock to everyone. He hadn’t been deemed a suicide risk, he presented as a model prisoner with no signs of depression, compliant with routines and thus far hadn’t had any problematic interactions with any other inmates. He left no note and if he’d been having any suicidal ideations he shared them with no one inside the prison or out.

Thankfully they hadn’t been shown any graphic pictures of Jim himself, just the scene of the “incident.” Demelza asked no more questions but stared at the close up of the knotted sheet, her lips twisted, her brows knit. Blundell then began to read through an itemised list of Jim’s possessions, both what he had in his cell and what he’d had on his person when he’d been detained back in May. Ross grew impatient and wanted to move on to the mortuary. That would be difficult but would be real, necessary, in a way that talking to this man wasn’t.

“One A4 notebook, one pair spectacles…” Blundell droned on. At this Demelza snapped back alert.

“Jim didn’t wear glasses. You’ve made a mistake,” she said.

“No, they were in his cell. I can check with Matron to see when they were prescribed…” Blundell offered.

“Yes, please,” she said, then retreated back into her own thoughts.

“What do I need to sign?” Ross asked abruptly.

----

“Are you sure you want to do this? To see him?” Ross asked Demelza as they waited in the hard plastic chairs outside the mortuary. But he knew her answer.

He recalled her words years ago. “You don’t have to hide it from me...I’m not a child. I understand the circle of life.”  

“Thank you, Ross,” she said, “for askin’, but yes, I do feel like I have to.”

Ross wanted to tell her how glad he was that she had come along, how he wasn’t sure he’d be able to sit through it all--the waiting and talking and driving--without her. Such a basic lesson but one he’d only learned recently, that sharing the grief and anguish with another did make a difference. But it seemed hardly the time nor place to declare his love and admiration for her. 

Demelza had a solemn elegance about her today, dressed in a cardigan and slim black trousers, suede loafers, her hair pulled back in a sleek low bun--not one of those messy affairs she usually piled on her head while working. Small gold earrings set off her pretty but unsmiling face. Blundell had had no idea he’d been stared down by a schoolgirl not quite eighteen. She looked older than her years, and could easily have been mistaken for Jim’s older sister. 

Or Ross’s wife.

It wasn’t the most far-fetched idea but it was the first time Ross had ever thought about it. The future--Demelza’s especially--was something he tried not to fixate on too much. She’d recently completed her applications and her present was very much occupied with making sure those plans for continuing her schooling were not derailed. He too was dedicated to giving her space and time to pursue her goals. 

But after that? Well a lot could happen in the years between. 

This line of thinking was cut off at once as they were greeted by another prison official--this time one of the medical staff--who led them to the window through which they were to view the body.

A curtain was pulled back and they stepped closer to the glass. 

Jim was covered up to his shoulders by a sheet that seemed as cold and stiff as the stainless steel table he lay upon. Even from their distance, they could tell he’d been considerately attended to so that much of the distortion to his face that occurred at such a death, had been minimised. Still he looked swollen, bruised, discoloured. His eyelids had been taped shut. His hair combed into a side part that he’d never worn in life.

“Oh Jim,” Demelza said softly then struggled to contain a sob. She moved even closer to the window, stopping just short of putting her cheek to it, and closed her eyes. “Poor, poor, Jim.”

Ross blinked away his own tears and reached to rub her back.

“Jinny and his mum should be here now,” she whispered.

“They’ll still get to say good-bye,” Ross reassured her. “Even if they choose to have a closed casket for the funeral, they can have a private viewing after the undertaker brings Jim back and does his…”

“Yes, good, good,” she said and looked again. This time her eyes were fixated on Jim’s shoulder, just  above the neatly folded sheet. “Ross, what’s that?” she pointed. “I didn’t know he had a tattoo.” 

It looked like a Chinese character of some sort. It was small and black and had been executed well enough, so he hadn't acquired it whilst in prison. She laughed lightly, perhaps struck by all the things they didn't know about Jim. Things they’d never know.

“Goodbye, Jim,” she said simply.

Just then the undertaker arrived and after quick introductions, he spoke to the prison attendant and to Ross and Demelza in hushed but confident tones. He clearly had a script, one he’d been using for years--the right words for the worst times, mostly procedural explanations of what happened next, bookended by expressions of condolences. And while they might not have felt personalised they did not ring false, as had the deputy’s words.

-----

Demelza drove most of the way home. Since she’d obtained her driving licence that autumn  she rightfully acknowledged she needed more practice on busier motorways. 

“Besides, Ross, no offence, but you look exhausted. Let me take a burden off you,” she persuaded and Ross didn't object. 

He was becoming accustomed to Demelza showing care for him when he was in need and no longer felt he had to put on a brave front for her. Today she’d definitely proven herself capable in so many ways--a true partner sharing in the pleasure and the despair of life. He adjusted the passenger seat and stretched his legs out, trying to relieve the tension that had been building in his body all day. 

Demelza was more than competent driving on the local roads, so it came as no surprise that she performed well for her debut long-distance drive. Ross offered little interference, only extending advice now and then when it came to changing lanes or passing other cars. 

About halfway home, she swung the Mondeo off the A30 at a service area. 

“Are you tired?” Ross asked when he saw what she was doing.

“No, but if we return Prudie’s car without any petrol we’ll hear no end of it,” she tried to laugh. “And I have to pee,” she admitted.

“You go in, I’ll fill the car and meet you inside. I could use a coffee.”

Demelza checked her handbag for cash then scooped up a handful of change from the cup holder for the pay toilets. She reached over to give Ross a soft peck, resting her hand on his cheek for a moment before handing over the car keys.

----

When Demelza emerged from the ladies she saw Ross already waiting for her, holding two steaming cups of tea.

“What happened to your coffee?” she asked.

“There was no waiting there,” he pointed to a depressingly empty pastry cart just behind him that, as it turned out, also served tea. “I thought you might want tea and didn't feel like bothering with the long queue at Costa.”

My poor Ross. He sounded dispirited, drained. Somehow even seeking out a coffee was too daunting a task for him.

“We can get a bite to eat, if you’d like. Are you hungry?” she gently suggested.

“Are you?” he asked.

“That's not what I asked, Ross,” she smiled. “But no, I’m not.”

“Maybe just some crisps?” he replied, his eyes soft, like a child’s.

"Go sit down, Ross. I’ll get you some sort of snack from the convenience shop.” She didn't wait for his response and dutifully he took both cups and sought out a bench as he’d been ordered.

Demelza hurried past the soft play area, then stopped when she spied a man lifting his young son up to reach one of the geometric climbing structures. The boy let out a great torrent of giggles and kicked with loose spaghetti legs, a technique that was not going to help his climb but would prolong the time he spent in his father's arms. Even from her distance Demelza could make out how charming the boy was--big sandy curls, round cheeks, and a bright green and blue striped shirt that matched the bold colours of the structure on which he was perched.

Poor Jim, she thought. Never again will he see such stripes. 

It was an utterly ridiculous observation and she knew it at once. Of course the real tragedy was that Jim would never even meet his child, that his son would never know his father’s touch or his love. But somehow in that moment, Demelza was instead struck that Jim would be forever missing the smaller delights of this world. Sparkling frost on a purple field, cheering stripes on a favourite t-shirt, a bell on a boat ringing softly as it is rocked by the waves, a perfect set of bird tracks in freshly fallen snow.

She turned and continued quickly on her way, ashamed at such thoughts. She secretly vowed never to voice them to anyone, especially not Ross. Why give him yet another opportunity to think her a silly child?

Demelza had been so young at the time when her own mother had died and recalled few details. And while she could speak of its grim aftermath--her father’s jagged rage that alternated with his dull neglect, the suffocating emptiness that became woven into the carpets of the hopeless Carne household--she’d escaped any recent encounters with mourning.

She didn’t yet know how irrational, even capricious, grief could be. How it unsuspectingly attached itself to moments when we are going about our daily lives, seemingly unaware that it had clung in some corner, waiting to pounce. That while one might expect it to call on rainy days, it was just as likely to appear in a sunny garden, when we are caught up in the heady smell of a lilac bloom. 

Of course Ross had a childhood loss, like she did, but he also more recently knew of grief’s ways from his father’s death, and from his time in the army. Had she risked sharing her thoughts with Ross, he could have offered her some useful perspective and perhaps ease her troubled mind. 

She wasn’t immature, just inexperienced. And it wasn’t an experience to be wished on anyone.

----

A tour bus had just pulled into the service area which explained why the small shop suddenly grew so crowded. Demelza thought she might seek out something for the headache that was beginning to spread behind her eyes, but she didn't want to wade through the throngs of tired and ill-tempered travellers. Better to get on with her mission and get back on the road. Before traffic, before roadworks, before despair set in.

Demelza didn't care much for crisps. They reminded her of too many evenings back in Illogan when a packet of crisps was meant to serve as her dinner. Still, she knew Ross liked salty snacks so she lingered indecisively over the vinegar or the paprika flavoured varieties. Perhaps he would like them both. She’d impatiently grabbed up the two when she spied the Bugles on the shelf above.

She’d done a fair job of holding herself together all day, of remaining composed-- for Ross’s sake, she’d told herself--and had only cried when she actually saw Jim’s body. Who wouldn’t? Even Ross had teared up then. 

But now, standing in front of the display of rubbish snacks in the busy roadway shop, she thought she might really lose it. Great sobs heaved in her chest, demanding to be freed, tears and snot rolled down her face. She had no tissue--she carried none in her handbag and her trousers had no pockets--so, unsuccessfully, she tried to wipe her face on her sleeve.

She squeezed her eyes shut and saw him: Jim the laughing idiot, trying his best to stack as many pointy Bugles on his fingertips as he could. 

“Come ‘ere, Dee!” he’d said and waved his monster-like claws at her. She always rolled her eyes to let him know she found his joke foolish and when he saw her chilly response, he’d console himself by eating the Bugles off his fingers three at a time. 

Oh, was I always so dismissive of him?

Surely she must have said something nice to him when they were alone, maybe when they were in bed? She couldn’t recall. It was odd but she never thought of Jim’s touch or of his hands on her naked body. It was as though she’d managed to delete those memories almost entirely. But she did recall Jim’s long fingers stripping wild cherry blossoms off a branch, then throwing the petals at her like confetti. Jim’s hapless fingers trying desperately to undo the latch on the goat pen. Jim’s clumsy fingers fumbling with the hop bines. Good god, Jim was nearly useless in the hop yard. She’d had to retie nearly all his knots.

His knots…

It was too unformed a thought, too horrible and heavy, and she pushed it away just as she felt a hand on her arm.

“You alright, miss?” A strange woman looked her up and down. She was wearing a bright blue pinny which suggested she was a shop employee. Yes, along the motorway they'd have been trained to spot women or minors in distress--victims of abuse or trafficking. 

Demelza almost laughed when she considered what she must have looked like. 

“Oh no, I’m fine. I mean I wasn't, but now I am,” Demelza stammered then tried to smile reassuringly.

I’ll be fine, she repeated trying to convince herself. 

Chapter 77: Hope

Notes:

Here are some resources if you or someone you know are struggling with depression, self-harm, suicidal thoughts, or just need to talk to someone. Please reach out to one of the services listed below. They are ready to help and want to hear from you.

If you are, or someone you know is, in immediate danger, please call a local emergency telephone number or go immediately to the nearest emergency room.

In the US the suicide hotline is 845 2738 255

This is a list of international suicide hotlines: http://www.suicide.org/international-suicide-hotlines.html

Here are tumblr’s counselling resources: https://tumblr.zendesk.com/hc/en-us/articles/231885028-Counseling-and-prevention-resources

----

“Demelza, come sit with me,” Ross said. He was already in the parlour, stretched out on the sofa, contemplating building a fire on the hearth as a sorry attempt to drive out the coldness in the world. 

Demelza had not stopped moving since they arrived back at Nampara. She seemed crestfallen to learn that Prudie had dispatched John to take care of the animals in the barn, denying her the job. Prudie had offered to make them supper, but Demelza leapt at the chance to be busy after hours of sitting. Within minutes she’d already peeled an onion and chopped some parsley, and began mincing up a few anchovies for a quick bolognese.

Ross understood her desire to be occupied. That had been his impulse as well. Maybe she’d learned it from him or maybe it was another way they were well suited to each other. Ross had driven the rest of the way home--he asked to--because thinking about frustrating traffic was better than dwelling on Jim. At least that’s what he’d found on the way there. It had almost worked, but not quite.

“Okay Ross,” Demelza said but before she joined him on the sofa, went to the old cabinet on the opposite wall and deftly poured them each a whisky.

She didn't say anything when she handed Ross his glass and sidled up close, her legs tucked under her.

“To Jim,” Ross said solemnly.

“Jim,” she said and took a small sip.

“Demelza? When did you start drinking whisky?” he asked. He meant it as a playful aside but it came out empty and flat.

“I think just now,” she smiled. “Can't really say I’ve had any before. It's better than your old rum anyway.”

He pulled her closer and kissed the top of her head. He knew she was trying hard for both of them.

“It means hope,” she said suddenly.

“What does?”

“Jim’s tattoo--that character. Jinny said it means hope. Or at least that's what he thought it meant. I asked her.”

“I didn’t even know he’d gotten a tattoo,” Ross said.

“Me neither. Jinny said he got it after he found out about the baby,” she explained. “Can you believe that? He wasn’t mad or even resentful about it.” She sighed and looked into her glass before she continued. “And Jinny told me that if it had been a girl they might have named her Hope. But she’s not disappointed that it's a boy. Did you know that, Ross? Did I tell you she knows she's havin’ a boy?”

“Yes, you did.” 

Ross still found it curious how Demelza seemed to have such care for Jinny--a girl who ostensibly had betrayed her and stolen her boyfriend. But it was as though Demelza had the wisdom to know she’d gotten the better end of the deal. It was also a sign of her strength and her magnetic personality that others sought her out. 

Ross took another sip of his whisky and wondered just when Jim’s hope had left him. Was it when he was arrested or when he was sentenced? When he’d first arrived at Dartmoor or was it more recent than that?

So much I should have done for him… he thought. There was nothing more Ross could do now but it wasn’t too late to care for Jim’s family, as his own father had done. And it wasn’t too late to ask the questions that had been collecting for some time.

Why exactly did Joshua care so much for this boy and his mother? And just what did Grace know?

“Ross, I…?” Demelza said slowly. Whatever it was on her mind, she was reluctant to voice it or perhaps was still forming the thought.

“What is it?” he asked, thankful for the distraction from his own darkness.

“It’s horrible to even think, but...Oh Ross, I can’t accept that Jim really killed himself!” she cried.

“It’s hard to believe, I know.” He rubbed her back for what might have been the tenth time that day, trying to offer some comfort in her distress, when really there was none to be had.

“No, I mean it doesn’t add up.” She sat up and looked him in the eye.

“Demelza?” He tried to read her.

“Why now? Before Jinny’d had her baby? Even if he thought he’d be a rubbish father why wouldn’t he wait until he could meet his own child? I can't see Jim abandonin’ Jinny like that, I just can’t.”

“I know. And his mother too. He’d been so devoted to her for years.”

“And well, Jim was weak and foolish and I've no doubt prison was breakin’ him, but I’ve just never known Jim to do anythin’ so decisive. I know they say suicide is a cowardly act but I say it’s a bold move,” she went on.

“It is shocking but I think every family feels that way after someone takes their life.”

“No Ross, it’s not just that.” She swallowed hard. “Jim couldn’t tie a simple knot, not with regular twine when we’d train the bines, none that stayed anyway. So you see, I…I just can’t believe he managed that noose.”

She looked straight at him again and this time Ross saw a frightening fire in her eyes. He put down his glass.

“Are you saying he...had help?” he asked.

“Oh I don’t know.”

“But why?”

“I know it sounds crazy,” she said. “And I’m sorry for bringin’ it up.”

“Don't be sorry,” he said and took her hand in his.”This is clearly weighing heavy on your mind. You make some good points. There are probably reasonable explanations but we haven’t been given any, have we? You are right--we need more information to answer these questions.” His words sounded measured and steady but his head was swimming, his gut churning. 

What if she was right?

“There’s one more thing,” she said. “The glasses. They aren’t Jim’s. Least not accordin’ to Jinny.”

“That’s disturbing,” Ross agreed. “I’ll phone the prison tomorrow and tell them they’ve made a mistake. It should be easy enough for them to find who is missing their glasses.”

And that person might have known Jim’s plan or helped with the knot or at least known his state of mind. Or done the job for him.

He exhaled and vowed to say no more to her on the subject. It wouldn’t do to jump to conclusions and voicing his own fears to Demelza wouldn’t soothe her tonight, especially not when those fears were so monstrous. He knew what a hypocrite that made him--especially after just seconds before he’d coaxed her to share her thoughts with him.

“You look tired,” he said to her, rubbing her hand with his thumb and forefinger.

“I do feel knackered, Ross, so I’ll forgive you if you mean I look like shite,” she laughed.

“No, you’ve looked lovely all day. Even now. Finish your drink so you can go to bed.”

“Yes, yes…”

“No, I mean come upstairs with me now,” he said gently. “I can’t bear to be alone.”

“Even after being with me all day?” she smiled.

“I have to admit I thought I didn't want you there today. That place...it was so grim, and to hear the details of Jim’s death--I wanted to spare you.”

“Oh Ross! You know you can't protect me from the world!”

“I know,” he said and pulled her closer still, burying his face in her chest then her belly. His ability to keep her safe was limited. He knew it, but he wished he didn't.

“You always tell me I can't fight all the world,” he said into her soft flesh. “That I can only make my own small corner a better place.”

“Ross.” She ran her fingers through his hair then pressed him to her.

“But I'm not really doing that, am I? At least not with Jim?”

“Yes, you did, Ross. Despite what you may think, you made a big difference in Jim’s life. You gave him work when no one else would be willin’ to. And all you do for Jim’s mum?”

Ross looked up at Demelza’s face again. It was so serene, and while he knew she was feeling great sorrow at Jim’s suffering, she somehow was still able to radiate calm and comfort. 

“And I know, Mrs. Carter is that grateful,” she went on. “Poor woman. It must be the worst thing. Losing a child--forever but first to prison, knowing he’d done something wrong and there was no way you could fix it for him?” 

“I was thinking the worst would be if I never got to hold you again,” Ross said. 

“Poor Jinny,” she gasped. “Oh Ross, just think of it. All this time she hasn’t been able to touch Jim at all, not since May!”

“No, visitors at Dartmoor are allowed contact,” he assured her. “They’d have been able to hug or even hold hands.”

“Oh, somehow that helps to hear,” she said. “I like to think he might have felt his child kick in Jinny’s belly…”

“Demelza,” Ross said suddenly. “There is something I came to see today, more than once in fact, and that is having you at my side, during trying times, well it matters. It’s more meaningful than I ever imagined.”

“Well Ross, it’s about time. You've been a friend to me for years and only now you're lettin’ me be one to you?” she teased.

“Demelza…” he began but saw she understood. 

“That’s what love does, Ross. It gives us hope in dark times, when we have no reason to expect anythin’ at all.”

He was going to tease her back and ask what she knew of love but saw how wrong that would be. It was no laughing matter, in fact. She knew it well--she was a quick study and had made it her mission to learn all she could in just a few short months. And he’d taught him quite a bit too.

He had no business to question love--not when life could be so cruel and unpredictable. They both need only accept that it had come to them and anyone who had issues with it--with them--be damned. 

His head was against her and he closed his eyes and once again gripped her tightly around her middle.

“Demelza, my Demelza…” he whispered. “Good god, I love you.”

“I know, Ross,” she whispered, “I know. And I love you too.”

“And do you? Have hope?”

“Of course, Ross. We have each other and, like you said, that means somethin’.”

“It means everything,” he said.

 

Notes:

Played a bit with the “what do you know of love?” line from Debbie Horsfield’s S1.4 script. I also hope that readers who are familiar with Winston Graham's later Poldark books (especially The Loving Cup) will get the connection of Demelza’s lament of losing a child to a crime.

Thanks for reading, more to this tale soon.

Chapter 78: Still A Soft Rain

“You’re home sooner than I’d expected. Did you have fun?” Ross asked.  

He had only gone downstairs for a minute to make sure the front door was locked since Demelza had come in through the back, and in the time he was gone she’d already cleaned her teeth and dressed for bed. Now she was snuggling under the covers but he could still see she’d put on one of his long sleeved t-shirts and her favourite flannel pyjama bottoms. The clothes she’d been wearing earlier lay in a puddle on the floor. 

“Are you comin’ to bed, Ross, or do you need to check the stove or unclog the gutters?” Demelza teased. “I’ve never known you to be such a worrier--unless it’s me you’re avoidin’...”

“Never.” He switched off the light and crawled up from the foot of the bed until he was level with her. Then he kissed her forehead  gently.

“Did you have fun?” he asked again.

She rolled over on her back and stared at the ceiling before she answered.

“Yes and no,” she said matter of factly.  

“Oh?” It was all he said, knowing she’d explain what she meant after she found more words.

“Well…have you ever had an experience where everythin’ seems right--seems spot on in fact--but it still leaves you feelin' empty inside or maybe just not…”

“Satisfied?” he offered.

“Yes, exactly so. I mean I like the mates I was out with-- Alex and Violet are really lovely and I’m glad I have classes with them this term. We really do have more to talk about than I ever did with Gemma and Aislin. And the music at the pub was fine so I can’t complain about that--I liked what I wearin’ so that wasn’t botherin’ me…”

“You looked great,” he tried to reassure her. 

She had. It was a subtle, mature look--jeans, a black ribbed polo neck that stretched across her long torso without being too tight, black boots with a little heel that no doubt would have caused her to tower over the fellows at the bar. And just enough red lipstick to counter all the black. 

“Do you ever?” he asked. “Worry about what you wear, I mean?” He was curious to hear this from her. He knew she’d always shown an interest in clothes and even when she was young had used her own money to buy new things. And she was so careful in her choosing, Ross had always assumed she was just discriminating in her taste. He hadn’t thought there was more to it. Every now and then he was reminded of the places she lacked confidence--she hid them so well day to day.

“Not all the time--not at home or at school--but out, maybe. It’s hard to know what’s the latest trend or how much is enough and when it's too much. It’s a ridiculous expectation--to be noticed but also not attract unwanted attention? And not everythin’ looks right on a tall, gangly ginger.”

Everything looks brilliant on your body, he wanted to say but didn’t interrupt her. If she was once awkward, she’d long since outgrown it, and now inhabited her frame with strength and poise. He also didn’t remind her that becoming a more pronounced redhead with the help of a bottle that lived discreetly in the shower had been her own choice.

“Some folks can just experiment until they find the right look but when you don’t have a lot of money to piss away…” she sighed.

Your choices have to be the right ones. So her discerning taste came from well-honed thrift. Again Ross wished he could do a better job of alleviating the poverty she’d lived with her whole life. 

“Anyway, it was a nice evenin’ but it almost felt more like an obligation. Like I’m supposed to go out with school mates because that’s what one does, have a laugh and all that, But it wasn’t really…enough,” she said. “But I’m not complainin’, I’m really not!’

“Of course you aren't. I remember I used to feel that way from time to time…in my youth,” he said.

“Are you sayin’ I’ll grow out of it?” she laughed.

“Yeah, maybe I am.” He paused to consider whether he should continue. He didn’t want to tell her that a large part of growing up was getting busier, and more knackered, and that you just got distracted by too many other things to feel everything so keenly. 

And it did come down to experience, didn’t it? When you’re young, you build so many dreams of what things are supposed to be like and of course you can’t help but be disappointed when things, or people, as you’d imagined them don’t live up to your expectations in real time.

He didn’t tell her all that--she’d need to learn it on her own. But knowing her as he thought he did, he wouldn’t be surprised if that was precisely what she’d worked out tonight.

“But there will come a day when you’ll be surprised,” he continued. “When you aren’t paying attention to what you're supposed to feel, and you’ll realise you are happy. At ease.” He remembered driving down a coastal road with Demelza happily singing beside him. It was a memory so potent he could still smell the salt in the air and feel the breeze on his face. “And it will be because…”

“Because it’s real?" she asked. Of course she’d gotten it.

“Exactly so,” he smiled and kissed her gently. She’d washed her face but he thought he could still taste traces of  lipstick.

“Did you at least get pissed?” he asked. “That would have helped, you know.”

“Really, Ross,” she rolled her eyes. “If you need to drink to have fun then that’s another sort of problem.” 

He laughed at her wisdom. He could have used a friend like her to keep him on a straighter path when he was young.

“Although Sally tried to get me to drink a Nampara Girl and was disappointed when I wouldn’t even take a sip. Servin’ a summer ale in November? What kind of publican does that? But I let her take my picture holdin’ the bottle and that seemed to cheer her up.”

“So not even one drink?”

“You know I don’t like beer. Besides, I was drivin’...”

“Yes, Prudie will be happy to hear that you take your safety and that of the Mondeo seriously.”

“Erm…I didn't take the Mondeo. I took your truck,” she said. Even in the dark he could see she was giving him a nervous smile.

“What? Demelza! The tires are so bald and in this weather? There could have been ice patches…”

“There weren’t,” she said quickly.

“That's what you think but black ice can seem to come out of nowhere. And the brakes are…”

“The brakes worked fine, Ross, really. I thought if I took the truck I wouldn't end up bein’ everyone’s taxi home--Violet’s at her dad’s this weekend and he lives all the way over near St. Allen--and I also thought Prudie might be goin’ out later and I didn’t want to get in the way of her plans.”

“Whereas you knew I was going nowhere?” he asked.

“Well, did you have plans?’ she teased then caught herself. “Oh! Did you? I hadn’t thought that maybe somethin’ had come up or you’d changed your mind…I’m sorry. Of course, why should you stay at home if I’m out? Ross, I hope I didn’t…”

“No,” he reassured her. This was precisely the dynamic he’d hoped to avoid. He’d been the one to encourage her to go out tonight when her mates had invited her. At first she’d expressed reluctance that he’d had to work to break through. He didn’t want her to limit her world to just Nampara--and to him. 

And she mustn’t feel guilty now about having left him behind.  

“So tell me about the music,” he said and pulled her into his arms. “You said it was good?”

“I said it was fine--there’s a difference. There was a live show so you know those can go either way. The guitar was mixed too loud but the singer had a pretty voice.”

“So do you,” he said.

“Yes, well I’m not gettin’ up to sing in a pub anytime soon,” she objected.

“Never say never,” he teased. 

“Listen,” she said. “It’s rainin’...”

“They had called for snow or sleet this week. Not surprising, this late in November.”

“No, it’s still just a soft rain. It’s not quite winter yet.”

“You see the good in everything, even a rainy night,” he smiled.

“Well as long as I’m snug next to you. If I was out for a walk I’d probably have somethin’ to say about it.” She sighed and rested her head on his heart. 

"You know, I suppose we should be grateful you didn't take your bicycle tonight.” 

“Or Adele,” she laughed. He liked the way it felt against his bare chest.

“Yes, or Adele.”

“Tell me, Ross. What about you, Ross? What did you do tonight?” 

“Read mostly.'' He didn’t tell her that he did the washing up from dinner, unclogged the downstairs bathroom basin, then fell asleep in his chair after just a few minutes. But at least he hadn’t stayed up watching the door, waiting for her to come home. 

“Anythin’ good?” she asked without raising her head. He could tell by her slow breathing she was getting sleepy. 

“No, just work related stuff…” He didn’t specify that he’d been reading articles on how to choose a solicitor and build a strong defence against liability claims in personal lawsuits. It wasn’t a lie, it was Carnmore business, just business that would keep until the next day. No need to bore her--or worry her-- with details now.

“Mmm…”

“Good night, Demelza, my love,” he whispered.

“I love you, Ross,” she said and seemed to fall asleep at once.

Chapter 79: The Coming Chill

Demelza had been wrong. The rains that came the next day and the week that followed were bitter-cold and held the threat of freezing at any moment. An unlucky body out in such weather could feel the raindrops pierce even the thickest sleeve then chill the bones beneath. Indoors might provide some respite from the wet, but even there one couldn’t entirely escape the storm’s prattle. The winds picked up the spray and cast it like buckshot against window panes and roofs, not with any regular rhythm but in grim fits and bursts. 

All last lingering traces of their unusually warm autumn were behind them now. Nature had hidden all signs of life and even its potential to return, below ground, in sleeping dens and in dormant roots. Winter was here.

The bedroom floorboards were cold under Ross’s bare feet. There was no denying it--something was amiss with the panel heater. It might have been that way last winter but he couldn’t really recall. It was likely he hadn’t even noticed then. Only now he saw things through Demelza’s eyes--and felt things as well. Things like overchilled bedrooms. He’d need to fix that later, or better yet, call someone in to do the repair so that it would actually get done.

He looked at Demelza asleep in the bed. She was lying on her side, her arms tucked under her pillow snuggling it close to her lovely face. Under the duvet, one of her long legs was bent and veered across the middle to claim territory on his side. Her lips were parted just a bit as if she was about to speak but her breathing remained steady.

She seemed so peaceful and content, not bothered by the cold, so he figured it best to let her sleep a little longer. All the same he’d have hot tea and maybe some breakfast ready for her when she did rise.

She wouldn’t be alone. Garrick was lying on the rug, half asleep and half on guard, in that way dogs manage to do both so well. He wouldn't dare to jump up whilst Ross was still present but they both knew the moment Ross left the room, Garrick would be joining his mistress on the bed. The dog opened one eye then sighed dramatically, admonishing Ross for some unnamed wrong. 

“I agree entirely,” Ross whispered and bent to pat his shaggy coat. Satisfied, Garrick tucked his snout into his own curled body and resumed his snoring. 

Ross fumbled for a pair of socks then still chilled, pulled a second shirt over his tshirt. His mobile buzzed but without even checking, he knew it was Tonkin.

He stepped into the bathroom to speak without waking Demelza.

---

“Not good news, I take it?” Ross said.

“Well I wish I could tell you otherwise,” Tonkin sighed, “but…” 

“But you’d be lying,” Ross interrupted. “Tell me then--what’s the latest development?”

“Warleggans are going through with the lawsuit against Carnmore, claiming our negligence caused their driver harm.”

“Their driver drove into our lorry! Our parked lorry, I might add.”

“Yes, well, since the injunction on the contested easement is still pending, it could be argued our lorry was dangerously placed.”

“You sound like you’re working for Warleggan’s solicitor,” Ross snorted.

“Ross, I’ve learned long ago, it’s wise to fully understand the other side’s argument so that you can best create your own defence.”

“Clearly you went to a better school than I did,” Ross grumbled.

“School? No, I learned that from Mrs. Tonkin,” Tonkin let out his signature jolly chuckle.

“This is nonsense!” Ross realised he was raising his voice and checked himself back into a more hushed tone. Sounds, especially shouting voices, carried easily through the walls and floor boards of Nampara. Now he was even more determined not to wake Demelza--not to embroil her in this mess. “I know the driver--Paul Daniel--and have known him since he was a boy. I can scarcely believe he’s even old enough to drive a lorry!”

“Technically he was driving a transport van.” Tonkin had an answer for everything.

“Why would he make such a ridiculous claim? I wish I could speak to him…”

“Well you can’t,” Tonkin said quickly. “That’s for certain. Not him or any members of his family, no matter how far back you all may go. It would be considered witness intimidation.”

“Yes, I do know that,” Ross tried to sound reassuring. Tonkin had enough on his plate without having to worry about his hotheaded partner making things worse. “So now what? Is it just Paul's word against ours?”

“Not exactly,” Tonkin sighed again and Ross knew more was about to be added to the bad news column. “They have a witness.”

“A witness? Let me guess, someone else on the Warleggan payroll?” Ross threw his head back in a silent groan.

“No, not on their payroll but someone who used to work for you apparently. Jud Paynter ring a bell?” Tonkin asked.

“Jud?” Ross laughed. Of course there was nothing at all funny about the situation. “He worked for my father, not me. And that was years ago. I haven’t seen him for years--decades even, and as far as I know, his ex-wife Prudie hasn’t either.” 

“Best thing I ever did was leave that man,” Prudie always said time and again whenever Jud’s name was mentioned. But those were rare occasions and with the exception of his surname, no traces of the man remained in her life. No wedding ring, no photos, he’d even been excised from the stories she told of her past. Ross wondered when the two had last spoken.

“Jud Paynter’s a drunk--he can hardly be considered reliable,” Ross added.

“Maybe he’s cleaned up. You said yourself that you haven't seen him in years. People can change.” Once again Tonkin was making the other side’s perspective sound perfectly reasonable.

“Isn’t there any security camera footage?”

“No, the cameras were all conveniently pointing the other direction,” Tonkin explained. “Look, there’s nothing more either of us can do about it today. Enjoy the rest of your Sunday. We’ll meet with our legal team on Tuesday and they’ll lay out a strategy for us but until then try to relax…Ross, why don’t you stay at the hopyard tomorrow? Take a break from all this?” It was no doubt meant as a thoughtful gesture but it sounded a bit like Tonkin was giving Ross the brush off.

“Yes, I do have some business here I’ve neglected,” Ross agreed. “Thanks for the update. At least we now have a better idea of what we are up against,” Ross said before he rang off. 

At least…

It was the sort of thing Demelza would say, mining a situation for any shred of good, but this time it brought him little comfort.

---

Prudie scanned the kitchen then rolled her eyes in undisguised disappointment when she saw Ross having a go at scrambling eggs.

“Where’s Demelza then?” she huffed.

“She’s sleeping,” Ross said, glancing up briefly then returning his attention to the cooker. 

“Sleepin’? It's nearly 10 o'clock! She be ill?”

“No, just tired,” he responded.

“Whatdya do to her?” 

He didn't have to look to know Prudie’s eyes were narrowed, her lips twisted.

“Prudie…” Ross grumbled, making it clear that his and Demelza's lovelife was distinctly off limits for discussion. Still he felt the need to explain. “She worked all day at the surgery yesterday, that's all. And she’ll no doubt work all day today at her studies, so let her sleep a little longer. It's what most…” he stopped himself. 

What most people her age--most teenagers--were doing on a Sunday morning.

“Well, erm…” Prudie turned this over in her mind a moment before she reloaded. “Fine for her, but now Prudie has to handle everythin’ here alone!”

Ross laughed. He knew she didn't really resent Demelza but couldn't resist sticking it to Ross. 

“Oh but I’m here to help,” he said sarcastically. “Would you like me to help you by serving you the breakfast that I alone made?” He nodded towards the pan of eggs in front of him. Again she turned up her nose in a sniff.

“It wouldn't be like this if you didn't have her workin’ for others…”

That was Demelza’s idea, not mine, he thought but knew no matter what he said, he’d always be the villain in Prudie’s eyes.

“Just thought I’d have more company on the weekends is all. Bad enough durin’ the week I’m on my own without Jinny now that she’s had her little tacker.”

“Jinny does want to come back, you know. She said so. In a few months time perhaps,” Ross said.

“Few months? Mebbe that's what she says now but she’ll change her mind, wait an’ see. Loads of mums don’t ever make it back to work.”

Unless they have no choice, Ross thought.

“Grab a plate,” he said instead.

“Demelza knows I like my eggs fried,” Prudie muttered then she sat down in the emphatic way she always did--the creaking chair seemed an extension of her own aching joints. She poured herself the last of the coffee from the pot without asking if Ross wanted any.

Ross watched her for a moment. It seemed to him that this woman who he’d known for the better part of his entire life had somehow become frozen in time. She wasn’t as old as she sometimes acted and still had an active social life outside of Nampara--larger than his for sure. But her hair, her clothes, her taste in music, her irritable moods had remained largely unchanged in twenty plus years.

One thing about her had changed though, and that was her willingness to openly show her affection for Demelza. Demelza had been at Nampara only a few weeks before Prudie’s grumpy facade started to slip, making it clear she liked the girl. Her esteem, her respect, her care for Demelza had only grown since, and that had somehow softened Prudie overall. Ross wished he could take some credit for that transformation but he knew that was Demelza’s doing alone. Demelza did that--saw the best in people and then called them to live up to it.

What would come of Prudie if--or rather when--Demelza left next year? She’d take it hard, no doubt. And then it would be just him and Prudie rattling around this lonely old house. Not exactly something he was looking forward to.

You’re lucky to have such a constant in your life, Demelza would tell him--she had said that to him before in fact. And she was right. Demelza had no one to keep the stories of her people, of what came before her, of how she used to be as a child. Not like Prudie was able to do for Ross, even if at times the woman was irritating or inaccurate.

Ross sighed and knew he had to ask Prudie the questions on his mind, even if the timing wasn’t quite perfect.

“Prudie, what do you ever hear from…Jud?”

“Jud Paynter? That measly little son of a…” Suspicion got the better of her and she switched tacks. “Why you ask?” She twisted her lips and stared at Ross with eyes that pierced through him.

“He’s been named as a witness in a criminal damages lawsuit.”

“Jud’s done criminal damages?” she laughed. “Why am I not surprised?”

“No, no, he isn’t the defendant,” he said. Or the respondent--isn’t that what they’re called in personal lawsuits? “He’s a witness to what supposedly happened,” he explained.

“Let me guess, on the wrong side, eh?”

“Well, I think so.”

“Someone suin’ you?”

“No, Warleggans are suing Carnmore for negligence and…”

“Demelza know this?” Prudie asked, snapping up from her slumped position at the table.

“No, not yet. I don’t want her to lose her focus right now. As it is, she spends far too much time caring for the people around her--she needs the chance, the space to look out for herself and just herself.”

“Capt’n,” Prudie began, and he knew at once he was about to get a dressing down. She rarely used that honourific with him anymore, so he was meant to listen. “This isn’t the same as bakin’ scones for Mrs. Carter or poppin’ round to cheer Jinny up. We're talkin’ about you. And yer livelihood. Our livelihood.”

Of course, she’d hit the nail on the head.

“I know, I know. And I will tell her, in due course.”

“And if she knew you'd been keepin’ this from her? That you'd been lyin’?”

“I haven’t lied,” he said quickly.

“But not trustin’ her?”

“It would destroy her,” he admitted. “You’re right, I’ll tell her everything when she wakes.”

Seeming satisfied with Ross’s word, Prudie took a long slurp from her mug.

“So what is it you know about Jud?” she asked.

“Not much. Just that apparently he’s Warleggan’s key witness. But where had he even come from? And he just happened to see anything? I mean I’ve never seen him around the premises of the brewery. Does he even live in Truro?”

“Jud don't really live anywhere. He’s no job to speak of so he just cadges off others, stayin’ long enough til he gets the boot. Whatcha thinkin’? That he’s some personal grudge ’gainst you?”

“Would he? After all these years? It was my father who sacked him, not me.”

“Well, he probably sees you as one an’ the same. Most likely never forgave you for keepin’ me on when he had to go. That was yer doin’, you know.”

“What?”

“You were just a boy but you carried on so, cryin’ and beggin’ til yer father let me stay.”

“I don't remember that…” He really didn't and found it disturbing that an emotional bond he’d apparently once had with this woman could be so easily and completely forgotten. “I just don't know what to make of Jud’s reappearance now. Surely it's just a coincidence.”

“Is it? Or did Warleggan seek out someone with a grievance ‘gainst you?”

“Why me? I'm only part of Carnmore. Maybe even the weakest link…”

“That’s whatcha go for first,” she snorted. It bothered him that she didn’t even pretend to disagree with his self-assessment.

“Prudie, why did my father sack Jud?”

“Ole Jud was drunk too often--all day when he was supposed to be caretakin’...that was nothin’ new, it was just that he started drinkin’ yer father’s good brandy and flappin’ his lips ‘bout things that weren't his business. Joshua saw that as disloyal.”

Loyalty…that had been something important to his father. For a moment, Ross missed the man.

“Prudie…” he began, not sure he should go on. “I have another question I've been meaning to ask. It's also about my father.”

“Oh?”

“About him and Mrs. Carter. He always seemed to take a special interest in her well-being and Jim’s too and…”

“That's not my story to tell, Ross,” Prudie said quickly looking into her coffee cup. “You better go talk to Katherine Carter herself.”

“But you said my mother had taken her in at one time and…”

“Again, Capt’n.” This time she looked up at him. “That's not my story to tell.”

Chapter 80: The Gathering Clouds

Ross stubbed out his cigarette in the empty teacup next to the bed then exhaled a long string of smoke, careful to aim away from Demelza’s face. Still she held her breath until he was done then rolled on her side to face him.

“I’d better be going then.” He bent and kissed her forehead. 

When he stood up to dress, Demelza could see he’d worn his muddy boots to bed. How had she not noticed this before? She tried to sit up too, to follow him out, but a strange weight spread across all of her head and held her down. Again she tried to rise, aware that Ross had already walked through the door--he’d had to stoop, it was so low--without saying a proper goodbye.

“Ross!” she called. “Wait!” But he was gone and she knew she wouldn’t be able to catch him.  Still unable to lift her head, she turned back to her pillow to bury her face--and the tears she knew would be coming. The case felt rough against her cheek and stank of unwashed laundry. 

“I want to go home,” she whimpered, then looking around her she saw she was there. Only this home was #22 Wesley Road.

“No!” she cried. “No!” 

The solid thud of a downstairs door closing awakened her. But before she opened her eyes, she inhaled deeply and was comforted by the smell of lavender on the soft sheets and even more so by the smell of Ross’s head where it had lain next to her on the pillow only hours before. 

She knew where she was. The rest had been a dream. Well, maybe not all. She still felt an uncomfortable heaviness in her head. 

This better not become a migraine…

This time Demelza successfully raised her head from the pillow. It was impossible to tell the exact time from the grey light that came in through the frosted windows. She didn’t care much for the gloomy weather they’d been experiencing, but this morning, she felt some relief that there was no bright sunshine to torment her. 

She put both hands to her head and sighed. It felt like she’d been hit across the back of her skull with a board yet it was almost welcome--an improvement from the headaches she’d been having lately. There was no pulsing in her eyeballs or flashing lights or piercing pain in her temples or jagged nausea. Just a regular dull ache that most likely came from sleeping too long.

She shivered and pulled the covers around her neck. Garrick, tucked against her leg with his head across her foot, looked at her, imploring her to close her eyes again. No, she couldn’t stay there, she’d need to get up and get moving. There was just too much to do today. And if the killer headache she'd had all the previous day returned for an encore, she’d be fucked. No, better to work straight through as long as she could.

Make hay while the sun shines. Isn’t that what they say? She’d been living on a farm so long she knew it to be true. Or maybe it was because she'd been living with a farmer that she’d internalised such an outlook even on days the sun wasn't actually shining.

Where was Ross? She reached for her mobile and snorted a disgusted laugh when she saw just how late it was. No doubt Ross had been up for hours while she’d been lazing in their bed.

She hadn’t exactly been indulging herself. She didn't really do that, although she could, if she wanted--Ross had made that clear to her time and again. Leisure for its own sake still felt foreign to her, and on those rare occasions she allowed herself an idle moment or two, the newness hadn’t faded. That she ordinarily was so energetic, made those times all the sweeter. 

What a love to let me sleep in. I wonder what he was thinking? Could he tell I was unwell yesterday?

Demelza had considered telling Ross about the headaches days ago, then decided against it. First of all, she couldn't be sure they’d actually been proper migraines and not just bad headaches. From what she’d read, a real migraine could be completely incapacitating and hers hadn’t been that bad. Not really. She hated to be dramatic for no good reason, especially if there were those who had it worse. Secondly, they didn’t happen that frequently. Only twice in the past two months. Well, maybe three times. And she’d been reading too much on her mobile and on the old laptop she used for school work, often in dim light since it got dark so early now. She probably needed glasses or maybe even just more fresh air.

The most important reason she didn't mention anything to Ross was that he’d been distracted lately, and she sensed something, probably work related, was bothering him. Carnmore had proven to be anything but easy and even post-harvest, there remained loads of hopyard business to attend to as well. 

But it could also be something personal. Ross was so shaken after Jim’s death--they all had been--and while he’d opened up to Demelza and spoken of his grief, she knew it to be a weight that still bore down on him. One that would not be lightly shed.

Poor Ross. What’s on your mind?

Or was it something else? Over the past few weeks he’d been so adamant about giving her space to do her work and to move freely about her school girl life. She’d found it touching but now she wondered--she worried--if he was actually pulling away. And if so for what reason?

Perhaps their intense summer love had been too stifling for him, too isolating. Was he just now waking up and realising how much of his life he’d neglected since May? 

Garrick rolled on his back and gave a soft whine, a last ditch and futile attempt to lure her to stay.

“Sorry, boy,” she said. “If it’s a cuddle you’re wantin’, you ‘ll have to go find Prudie.”

---

“There he is, the lazy beast, sleepin’ til noon!” Prudie chided as Garrick came bounding into the kitchen to greet her--and to glean any crumbs of breakfast that may have fallen at her feet.

“It’s just past ten,” Demelza laughed, pretending that she hadn’t noticed Prudie’s critique was actually meant for her.  She reached over and took a piece of uneaten toast from Prudie’s plate then switched on the kettle.

“Well, Garrick we’re the fools, aren’t we? It’s about five degrees warmer down here than upstairs.” The difference really was noticeable. The radiators downstairs must have been working overtime to heat the old house, and the cooker seemed to still generate some warmth from when it was last used. Even the flags under her bare feet felt warm.

“There’s eggs here for you, “ Prudie said. ”‘Course they might be cold by now.” 

“Thank you, Prudie. That was kind of you.” The guilt was seeping in now. Demelza had almost forgotten the headache that had kept her in bed in the first place when a throb in her forehead made her rub her brows.

“Whatissit?” Prudie was always looking for something to be wrong and now seemed astonished that this time she might have actually found something. “Yer head? Too much last night or another one of yer headaches?”

“What?” Demelza spun around to look at her. 

“Don’t you be squintin’ at me like that. Think ole Prudie wouldn’t notice when yer holdin’ yer head an’ wincin’ all the time? Come on then, tell me, how long these been happenin’?”

“A few weeks, maybe since last month. Well, no that’s not quite right. They were bad and then…”

“An’ then they went away completely? Then came back?”

“Yes…”

“‘Specially bad yesterday?”

“Erm…yeah. Prudie? You’re creepin’ me out here,” she tried to laugh but Prudie had nailed the pattern Demelza had failed to see.

“But today you’re gettin’ your period so they’ll probably ease up soon,” Prudie added. “Oh don’t look at me like that. ‘Course I know when yer period’s due--we’ve been livin’ together for years.”

“Yes, but…”

“Sounds like ‘menstrual migraines’. My mum had those.”

“All her life?” Demelza gulped.

“Came and went. You should talk to yer GP if they continue. They’ve got better drugs now than in my mum’s day. Mebbe even a different birth control pill can sort them for you.”

“Well, maybe…erm…” Demelza laughed nervously. She really didn’t want to talk birth control with Prudie. “I’m not really sure these headaches--there have really only been a few--are a thing…” Demelza was still hesitant to say ‘migraine’. That was a term that belonged to other people, not her. “It could be just stress,” she tried brushing the whole conversation away.

“Stress?” Prudie scoffed. She wasn’t buying it. “Ross know?”

“About the stress?”

“‘Course he knows ’bout yer stress!” Prudie slapped her palm on the table and shook her head impatiently. “All he do is worry ‘bout you overdoin’ it!”

“He does?” Demelza asked. “I mean, of course he does.”

“I’m talkin’ bout the headaches! Did you tell ‘im, girl?”

“No, I haven’t. Like you said, Prudie, he worries too much as it is. I can't have him treatin’ me like I’m some sort of baby bird. And truly, he has his own worries with the hopyard and the brewery.”

“Supposed to share ‘em,” Prudie mumbled into her cup.

“What was that?’ Demelza asked.

“I said, yer supposed to share the worries, when yer…a couple. Not shoulder ‘em all alone until it bursts you open. You two are so alike, stubborn and proud--and proper idiots, both of you.”

“I take that as a proper compliment.” Demelza sat down next to Prudie and rubbed her arm. She really did appreciate the attention from her even if it felt overbearing at times. 

But what was prompting Prudie of all people to offer relationship advice? 

“Eat yer eggs. It was Ross that made ‘em,” Prudie said, as a peace offering.

“He did? That’s sweet. Where is he?” Demelza asked. 

He wasn’t in the house, she knew that. The library door was open so anyone could see his desk was unoccupied, and they’d have heard him if he were anywhere else--his footsteps weren’t exactly mannerly. She remembered someone had exited out the front door earlier--it was so heavy she’d heard it shut from all the way upstairs.

But where would he go? He wouldn’t be out handling the stock. John Cobbledick came in to do that on Sunday mornings before he went to all day church services with his wife and family. Ross had arranged that earlier in the autumn--he’d been concerned about Demelza overextending herself working at the surgery on weekends while also balancing school pressures during the week.

Demelza hadn’t objected since it at least meant Ross was committed to keeping the goats and pigs--and the cow. She never spoke of it but she feared that if she ever left, Ross would have no patience for that whole part of Nampara, and they’d all be sold off in a heartbeat. They didn’t matter as much to him as they did to her. She needn't worry about the chickens though--those were still very much Prudie’s domain.

“He said he was goin’ for a walk to clear his head,” Prudie rolled her eyes.

“In the rain? Did he say where he was goin’?” Demelza asked, putting down her fork and rising to her feet.

“No. But give him his time,” Prudie said. “He’ll come back.”

 

Notes:

I hadn’t intended to bring Demelza’s “megraines” into the story yet (Winston Graham doesn’t introduce them until she is much older) but one day I was trying to get her out of bed and she waved me away with a headache, so here we are.

Savvy readers will see I played a bit with the sentiment and words from this beauty of a passage. I did not, however, do it justice, though: “The joys of leisure, rarely indulged, had not yet lost a grain of their newness. This of all things was what made her happiest in the life of a lady. In her childhood she had always worked until there was nothing but a sleep of exhaustion left, and slept until a boot or a shout roused her. As a servant at Nampara she had had her quieter times, but the best of these had been stolen, furtive; nervous alertness woven in with her pleasure. Now if she chose, if she felt like it, she could idle with all the world to see. The very energy of her ordinary ways made these times all the sweeter. She was a lady, wife of Ross Poldark, whose ancestry in these parts went back hundreds of years. The children of her body, Julia first, would be called Poldark, with a good home, money enough, a root, upbringing, a legacy of culture. Sometimes her heart swelled at the thought.” --from Demelza.

Chapter 81: Resolve

”Prudie, where’s Demelza?” Ross asked. He’d taken his sodden boots off at the back door and was now uncomfortably aware that he had a hole in the toe of his sock. But at least the kitchen was warm, unlike the outdoors--and unlike the rooms upstairs.

Prudie had been sitting at the table, feet up, head slung back and the rhythmic rasping that escaped her mouth revealed what she would no doubt later deny. Ross cleared his throat to wake her.

“What? I wasn’t sleepin’, just puttin’ my feet up. You know, doctor’s orders,” she explained. “What are you shoutin’ ‘bout then?”

“I was asking if you knew where Demelza was?” Ross repeated.

“What is it with you two?” Prudie scoffed. “Can't seem to be in the same room at same time today. No, now she’s gone off to see Jinny. Not sure when she’ll be back. Soon mebbe. Took her bicycle.”

“And you let her go…in the rain?” he asked.

“Let her?--that’s a good one. Told her I’d drive her or lend her my car, but she insisted, and there was no arguin’. You know how she gets. Said she wanted fresh air. An’ it was hardly drizzlin’ when she left.”

What Demelza had actually said was she wanted to feel the cool spritz on her face as she rode between raindrops and hoped it would ease the headache that was either just beginning or maybe just about to go away. 

“And now?” Ross asked, looking anxiously out the window. “You do see it is now raining steadily?”

“Look, I thought you were goin ‘over to see Katherine Carter yerself so I figured the two of you would cross paths and then you'd bring her home.”

“No, I didn’t go see there,” Ross mumbled and sat down pretending to read the newspaper. He didn't want to explain to Prudie that he just couldn’t face that conversation with Mrs. Carter. Not today anyway. 

His cold wet walk earlier, meant to clear his head, did not in the end serve its purpose. Instead of ordering his thoughts, he added more to the mix. More “what ifs”--usually worst case scenarios. If he stopped to give it full consideration, he might be be proud of just how very vivid his imagination could be.

Prudie was right that he needed to bring his questions directly to Katherine Carter, but he also knew that before he did that, he had to talk to Demelza. She wouldn't have answers--how could she?--but she’d at least help him sort his feelings.

“What is it that you want, Ross?” she’d say and just like that he’d find his first step forward. 

He’d also have to tell Demelza about the Carnmore lawsuit but that seemed even harder to broach. As long as he didn’t speak of it aloud to her, then the reality wouldn’t exist. But as soon as he committed to the words, he’d have given shape to a thing he could no longer control. And he'd have pulled her into his latest debacle.

If he stopped to give it full consideration, he might be proud of just how brilliant a denial strategy it was. What he did recognise though, was how like Joshua it was to proceed that way, shutting out loved ones, barricading oneself alone instead of facing obstacles.

He ran his hand through his wet hair. A single drop of rainwater slipped from the curl that  dangled at his forehead and onto his newspaper in front of him, blurring the words. Without looking up at Prudie, he exhaled a deep sigh of resignation.

“I’ll ring Demelza to see if she needs us to collect her,” he said.

“Don’t you bother. Here’s the girl now.” 

The front door slammed shut and Garrick barked his welcome. It took a few minutes before she joined them in the kitchen.

“Such a grand entrance!” Prudie said when she finally appeared. “You seem well. What you been up to and what’s that look all about?”

Demelza still held the towel she’d used to dry off her head and her clothes were visibly damp from having just bicycled in the cold rain, but instead of looking miserable, she entered the kitchen with an unmistakable grin on her face--a precious rare commodity these days.

“Nothin’...only I’ve been ‘round to see Jinny,” she said. “Takes your mind off your own worries if your helpin’ someone else. You know she’s been so glum lately.”

“So yer supposed to be cheerin’ Jinny up, yet she’s the one that left you so amused?” Prudie didn't try to hide her suspicion.

“Not Jinny, but little Benjy Ross did! He’s such a sweet little thing--so soft and warm and baby smellin’! And when I held him he nuzzled my shoulder and made such little squeaks, just like a mouse.”

“Don't you go gettin’ all broody on us, girl. Next thing you’ll be wantin’ one of yer own.“ At this Prudie shot Ross a poisonous glare, although his head was bent so her daggers failed to hit their mark.  

But Demelza had caught her eye and sent a look right back, complete with an eye roll. It was as close as she would get to assuring Prudie out loud that she had in fact gotten her period that very day--and wasn’t in any present danger at the moment.

“Oh, no worries about that, Prudie,” she said instead with a quick laugh. “Benjy Ross is a love but I know I can enjoy him all the more because I get to go home and leave all the nasty bits to Jinny. Besides, I have a plan.”

At this Ross looked up from his newspaper, having grown interested in what she was saying. He always found Demelza’s plans intriguing.

“For starters, I'm not havin’ children,” she began.

This completely surprised him.

They’d never talked about it before--no, they’d talked very much about deliberately not conceiving a child now and took careful precautions on that score, but never talked about the future. It would have been grossly premature and wholly inappropriate based on the newness of their relationship, despite the intimacy they'd cemented over the past six months. Not to mention, there was the very pressing detail of her age. 

Yet without ever fully forming thoughts on the subject, Ross now recognised having a family was something he did want---down the line of course. He had somehow assumed that someday--perhaps in ten years when she was the age he was now--Demelza might want children too. In this moment, Ross faced two other facts he’d never before identified, at least not consciously. The first was he very much saw Demelza in his future. And the second was that if there ever were to be children in his life, he’d want them with her. 

And why not? He loved her. More completely and profoundly than any other person past or present. In fact he’d never really known love until he found it with her. Demelza was his whole world, and his only family now. And he hers. So to someday share that love with a child? Wouldn’t that be a wondrous thing?

Of course, as he now also acknowledged, she might not want that. Not with him or with anyone. What could she even know of happy familial love to aspire to? She’d no memory of a mother and nothing but trauma from her father. And she’d probably already experienced her share of parenting taking care of her brothers. She deserved to pass on the whole thing.

Ross had so many years on her. It made sense they’d have such different takes on the matter. He felt a flicker of disappointment that their dreams didn't align but he also loved her enough to respect her decision and to feel proud of her resolve. She knew her own mind, what she wanted--and what she didn’t want. 

Apparently Prudie felt otherwise.

“No babies? Never?” she cried incredulously. “To leave nothin’ behind in this sad sorry world?” 

This response also caught Ross by surprise. He’d always assumed Prudie didn’t really care much for children and that she had deliberately chosen to remain childless, even during all the years she’d been married to Jud. Perhaps that hadn't been her choice after all. 

Maybe it was just that. Having no legacy of her own, Prudie now poured all her attentive energies into Demelza. She fussed and worried but also celebrated with pride anything Demelza accomplished. Perhaps she’d been looking forward to being a grandmother figure to Demelza’s future chibbies. She’d certainly be a step up from Tom Carne and even from Aunt Agatha as far as relatives went.

“There’s plenty that folks can leave behind besides unhappy children,” Demelza laughed. “But relax, Prudie. But I’m not sayin’ never never. I’m just not goin’ to even think about it til I'm like over thirty.” Demelza opened the refrigerator and then closed it, reconsidering whatever it was she’d been looking for. 

Ross laughed lightly, reminded of another vow she’d made not six month before--that she was done with men until she was thirty. No, she’d said boys so technically she’d held true to her word. 

But whatever she said just now, either her words or her tone, seemed to assuage Prudie’s fears.

“Smart girl, school first. That way yer not always dependin’ on some bloke.”

“Some bloke?” Demelza raised a brow. No one acknowledged aloud whether such a bloke might be sitting in that very room. 

“It’s not just school but I want to establish myself a bit,” Demelza continued. “Either professionally or just as a person. Maybe travel. All the fun stuff has to happen first so there’s no resentment of what could have been. No one wants to be the reason their parent--or their partner--is unhappy or unsatisfied."

Ross looked up at her with soft eyes and smiled again. 

He loved her. He’d never hold her back. Never. And he’d never be the cause of her resentment.

---

It was a dark, dull week. The bitter winds had quieted but the light seemed to vanish completely as December approached. Inside Nampara the hearths blazed, adding a little touch to the otherwise cheerless rooms. Downstairs now felt overly warm but upstairs--avoided until the absolute last minute before bed--remained chilly. On Monday Ross had taken apart the panel heater in the main bedroom but to no avail. He’d have to call in a professional, which he dreaded--both the expense and the recognition of his own shortcomings.

At least Demelza seemed to be sleeping better the past few days even in the cold. She’d been less talkative but Ross sensed that whatever was troubling her had maybe eased. He was just learning to pay attention to these things, and he hated how platitudinal it sounded, but he chalked it up to her cycle.

Tonight she was already asleep, flat on her back, dressed in warm layers. She’d added a few extra woollen blankets to the bed without making a fuss. He’d have preferred to sleep bare skin to bare skin but she had her period that week and told him she felt more comfortable this way. He would never press it. And never ask her to do anything she didn’t want.

Ross would be lying to himself if he claimed he hadn’t thought further about Demelza as a mother. Good god, she had so much warmth and kindness. Over the summer he’d seen her coax the scrawniest plants in the yard into life and she seemed to never give up on any soul. Then again all those instincts and talents could still be put to good use, and applied  to others--neighbour, animal, anyone she met really. It needn't be flesh of her flesh. Of their flesh.

He hated himself for even thinking about it. She’d made her position clear. He had to let her grow and do so on her own terms.

He knew then he had only two choices: to give up his dream of curly-haired children sitting at their table and running through their fields (they'd have curly hair, wouldn't they?) or give up loving--and sleeping with--a seventeen year old. 

It was an easy decision.

“I was thinkin’ of gettin’ a haircut before Christmas,” Demelza suddenly spoke, opening her eyes just a little. “Nothin’ dramatic, just a little shorter. Might make me look a little older.” 

What the hell message was he sending her? That she should be ashamed of her age or of who she was? She should proudly wear her hair in pigtails if she wanted.

“I didn’t know you were awake. Sorry.” He pulled her closer and kissed her forehead, then switched off his light.

“Well?” she laughed.

“Mm-hmm..” he said absently and settled against his pillow without letting her go.

“And maybe some facial tattooes or eyebrow piercin’s?”

“Yes of course,” he muttered.

“Oh Ross, never mind.” She pulled away but laughed to make it clear she wasn’t holding his inattentiveness against him tonight.

“No, wait, what is it?” he asked, switching on the light again.

“Now that's what I wanted to ask you, Ross.” She smiled a gentle and inviting smile that didn’t quite hide her hesitancy. “You’ve been sittin’ there thinkin’ for hours. What’s keepin’ you up?”

“Not hours,” he tried to joke.

“Whatever, Ross. You know you can't hide it from me when somethin’s amiss.”

“Yes, I do know…” He shook his head and looked away as if ashamed. “I’ve been waiting for the right time to tell you. But it’s late, are you sure you want me to unload now?”

“Tell me what?” She sat up. “Ross?”

“Carnmore,” he said.

“I figured and I’m awfully sorry. Is it money troubles?” she asked. “Don’t tell me the brewery is goin’ under?!” 

“Well, it will if we don’t find our way out of this mess.” 

Ross sighed and laid it all out for her--the growing enmity with the Warleggans over the right of way dispute, the incident with the lorry and the transport van, the vindictive--and ridiculous--lawsuit that followed, even Jud Paytner’s sudden reappearance as a key witness. He was surprised that he now found it easier to speak about Carnmore than his suspicions about Mrs. Carter and his father. That topic would keep for yet another night.

“An’ Prudie knows about Jud?” Demelza asked. 

“Yes, she was not over thrilled about his return.”

“Wonder why she didn't say anythin’ to me?” Demelza said, then twisted her lips in concentration as she gave it all some more thought. “And it was really Paul Daniel drivin’? And he made those claims against you?” she added. “He never!”

“Oh yes he has…” Ross said. “I always thought him the more sensible of the whole Daniel family.”

“But why? What has Paul against you…I mean other than me, but he can’t be holdin’ on to that or truly think it was your fault, can he? Oh Ross, I’d never forgive myself.”

“I really can’t say. But don’t blame yourself. I certainly don't--and I don’t actually blame Paul. I think the Warleggans, George in particular, has some hold over him that for whatever reason, he cannot escape.”

“Oh Ross, why didn't you tell me all this earlier? No, of course…” she said quickly. “You told me when you were ready. And I guess we’re all lousy at sharin’ what ails us,” she added. 

He was about to question her on that--was she keeping something back herself?--when she snuggled herself against him and held him close. 

“Turn your light off and try to get some sleep, Ross. Maybe it will all make more sense or you'll see a way out in the mornin’.” It was that reassuring tone she’d perfected over time--the voice of comfort and hope. And love. 

His lungs filled with air and blood flowed through his veins. He was not just alive but living, once again content at being. And he was reminded he wasn’t alone.

 “Whatever happens, we’ll get through this together,” she whispered into the darkness.

Notes:

This writer believes in reproductive rights and in this story, Demelza can do whatever the hell she wants with her body. But don’t be too hard on Ross--it’s tricky business loving someone younger (or older) than you and he’s coming around at understanding how thick he’s been.

Chapter 82: Secrets and Lies

Demelza pulled over and switched off the engine. The truck barely had a chance to warm up on the drive over and at once she could see her frosty breath in the cold cab. She’d parked in the road; the drive was packed with cars, two that had mismatched bonnets and no wheels and one that was missing a windscreen. A shiny blue Renault Mégane RS stood apart from the rest. No doubt it would be reclaimed by creditors soon.

Perhaps this is too early, she thought. If they’ve all had a late night…

Demelza stepped out onto the frosty pavement then paused again. 

The house was once a tidy yellow stucco but was now the colour of snot---moss and weather had given it an off-putting tinge. Everything seemed too quiet and here she was to what? Untangle this mess or merely disturb the peace?

Just when Demelza was contemplating turning back, Keren burst out of the front door. She seemed to be in her permanently annoyed state, as if the world or at least her boyfriend, had let her down yet again.  

As she moved closer, Demelza could tell that the almost-adept contouring makeup Keren sported was left over from the previous night. She also wore a man’s parka over what appeared to be a very minimal red dress. Her spiked heels were crusted with tiny fake gems, although in some areas, the sparkles had fallen off. It seemed to have been a rough night. Or year.

“Which dickhead brother are you here to see?” Keren rolled her heavily outlined eyes towards the open door where Mark stood scratching his belly through his shirt. It was five degrees outside but he was barefoot, either impervious to the cold or just not quite awake.

Keren snorted something not quite audible then slammed the door of the blue sports car and drove off.

“Paul!” Mark called, without waiting for Demelza to speak. “There's someone here you’ll want to see.” He didn’t acknowledge Keren’s departure at all, just turned to go back inside without waiting for Paul to emerge.

“Oh?” Paul said and then when he saw Demelza, straightened up a bit. “Hiya,” he said cooly, eyeing the truck behind her.

Perhaps it had been a poor choice to come here in Ross’s truck. Anyone in the neighbourhood would recognise it and she wasn’t here to flaunt her connection to Ross. In fact, Ross didn’t know she had come at all.

“Hi Paul,” Demelza smiled, hoping it was neither too friendly nor too fake. “Wonderin’ if we could have a word?”

“Yeah, ok. Wanna come in? My dad’s asleep on the sofa but we could go upstairs to my room…”

“No, out here is fine,” she said quickly and then tried to hide the shiver that ran through her.

“Did he send you?” Paul said sullenly. “Ross?” 

She didn't like how he spoke the name as though it was somehow distasteful. Ross had never been anything but helpful to the whole Daniel family, and for years they’d all gotten on well. But then she’d ruined all that, hadn’t she?

“No, Ross doesn’t know I’m here,” she said and exhaled in frustration. The situation was fucked, no matter how she looked at it. “Paul, I…erm…” she began but then could contain her cool no longer. “Paul, what happened? Why are you doin’ this?”

“What do you mean? I have every right to…”

“You’ve a right? To lie?”

“Isn't a lie,” Paul muttered.

“Well it's a hell of an exaggeration. Did George Warleggan put you up to this?”

“No,” he said, then looked away quickly. 

She knew it.

“Have you thought this through? About what might happen as a result?”

“You mean for your boyfriend?” he spat.

“Yes, no--for everyone! And for me!” she said. “Ross is holdin’ on by a thread and only joined Carnmore to help Tonkin out, now he might lose everythin’? How can he help Jinny or Jim’s mum if that happens? And I still really haven’t a clue how I’m goin’ to pay for school next year but I can tell you that if I lose the roof over my head now I can kiss that dream goodbye. And Prudie--she’d be unemployed. Is George Warleggan’s temporary goodwill really worth more than your friends?”

“Isn't temporary…”

“Oh come on! Even I know he’ll show an interest in you as long as it's convenient then he’ll turn his back and wash his hands. And Warleggan’s your employer, Paul. Not your friend.”

“I can’t worry ‘bout others. Only myself,” he said and tapped his foot nervously.

“I don’t buy that either, Paul. How can a gratuitous lawsuit be good for you?”

He looked at her blankly.

“It's unnecessary,” she sighed. “Unless…has Warleggan somethin’ on you?” It was a shot in the dark but Paul’s nervous demeanour had made her push. “Paul?” she asked.

“It’s not right that you’re even here,” he mumbled.

“Paul, I’m here as your mate!” 

“We can’t really be mates anymore, Dee. Not after what we did together…it's obvious you used me, then moved on, and you don’t care ‘bout my feelin’s at all.” 

“I do care, Paul. And I’m sorry if it was hurtful to you, what happened last year.” She tried not to linger on how long ago it had been. Surely it was too long a time to hold a torch--or a grudge. She’d seen him loads of times since and he didn't seem so hostile then. Just what had changed?

“It wasn’t hurtful then but after,” he said. “When you told me we were just mates…”

“I am sorry,” she said and reached out to put her hand on his arm. He didn’t pull away.

“How’s Jinny doin’?” he asked. “I saw the post of the baby on her Instagram but she didn’t answer my texts.”

“She’s doin’ the best she can,” Demelza said. 

No need to give him all the details. That Jinny was having a really hard time, that she was battling the most indescribable grief at having lost Jim, perhaps combined with post natal depression. Demelza went over to see her whenever she could afford the time--and even when she really couldn’t--but there was only so much she could do. “Her little Benjy is a love, though. Such a sweet baby--he has Jim’s eyes. Truly, it’s remarkable.”

“Oh…” Paul said. For a moment he looked as though he was considering a jealous battle with Jim’s ghost as well, then he caught himself. “Poor Jinny.”

“Yes, well, I’ll tell her you said hi, she’ll be glad to hear from you,” Demelza said and dared a quick smile.

“And maybe we can get together at the holidays for a bonfire at the beach or somethin’?”

“Yeah, that sounds brilliant,” she lied. 

“They told me I'd be nicked for theft too,” Paul blurted out suddenly.

“What? Who?” she asked gently and stepped forward again.

“Not George but his uncle, Cary. After Jim got locked up, they took me aside and…” Paul said quickly, like he was afraid he’d lose his nerve to continue if he didn’t get it all out at once.

“But Paul, you weren't with Jim that night, were you? I thought it was that other Vargas bloke…”

“Vigus,” he corrected her. “Yeah, but I was supposed to go, only my dad needed me here, so Jim went in my place.”

“And the Warleggans knew this?”

“Dee--they sent us to do the theft,” Paul said.

“To rob their own buildin’ sites?” This tale was becoming more twisted by the minute. 

“They were tearin’ the houses down before they built new ones but they already owned the properties so if anythin’ of value was damaged or went missin’ they could claim the insurance,” Paul explained. 

“They told you where to go? Which houses?”

“Vigus knew all the places that had anythin’ of value. He liked to keep to himself where the next target was gonna be so Warleggans could be convincingly surprised.”

“Oh Paul! You knew this? And you went along? What the fuck happened the night that Jim got caught?” Now she held Paul’s wrist like he was a child and she wanted to make sure he didn't skulk away.

“Dee, I swear I don’t know! Somehow the cops got wind of it all and Vigus fled leavin’ Jim behind. Warleggans didn’t know Jim was workin’ for them…well, not then anyway.”

“Not then? When, Paul? Just when did they learn that the fellow who they were chargin’ was one of their own?” She was staring him down and her words had acquired a hiss that adequately expressed the depths of her fury. She let go of him only to wipe away the specks of spittle that she felt forming at the corners of her mouth.

“Not til later. Once he was in court,” Paul said.

“And no one stopped it? Stopped them?” she asked.

“It was too late. And Jim didn’t know anythin’ about who was behind the whole scheme so Warleggans figured it was best to…”

“Best to send an innocent man to prison? To die?” she cried. “Paul, tell me you didn't let this happen!”

“Believe me, Dee. I tried! I was the one who told the Warleggans what happened with Jim takin’ my part--and then I told Jim the truth too.”

“Jim knew he’d been set up?”

“I went to visit him at Dartmoor this summer and told him myself. But he promised not to tell anyone ‘bout the Warleggans--and I swear he didn’t--and I told Cary he wouldn’t.”

“So Cary knew Jim knew? And still the Warleggans then turned this whole thing against you?”

“Yeah, after I hit the Carnmore lorry they told me I had to go along with their negligence claim to the word or they’d tell the cops about my part in the copper pipe thievin’...’course they would deny it was them that set it up. It was my word ‘gainst theirs--and ‘gainst Vigus’s too.”

“And you really did drive into the Carnmore lorry?”

“Yeah, but it truly was an accident…” he said sheepishly, stopping just shy of saying it was his own fault.

“So Vigus has come back?” Demelza watched him nod slowly as if he was afraid to say the words aloud. “But couldn’t be arsed to help Jim or explain why he left him alone in a stolen car that night?” she asked. “Seriously, Paul, can’t you see what you did?!”

“It’s not like that…”

“Oh, Jinny!” Demelza whispered. 

“Look I didn't mean to hurt her…or Ross,” Paul tried to defend himself.

“But that’s exactly what you did. And are still doin’, fuckin’ with their lives! And more than that--Jim is dead and yes, you played a hand in that whether you like it or not. But, Paul, you can still make things right, you can! By tellin’ the truth straightaway.”

“Please, no!” he pleaded. “I can’t!”

Of course Paul would never say anything against the Warleggans--he was too scared of the hold they had over him. And maybe rightly so. 

She opened her mouth to speak but no words came. She felt so empty, she wasn’t even sure she’d ever breathe again. 

Silently she turned to walk away, then stopped with her hand on the door of the truck.

“Dee!” Paul called one last time.

“Don’t fuckin’ call me that. My name is Demelza,” she called over her shoulder.

---

Once alone inside the truck, the rage really began. She banged her fists on the steering wheel and let out a low groan of frustration and anger. 

“Fuck! Fuck!” she cried and reached for her mobile to ring Ross, then immediately thought better of it. She had to think before she told anyone this--even Ross. 

She switched on the engine and pulled away with a little more of an emphatic tire screech than she’d intended. Once she hit the roundabout at the end of the road, instead of driving back to Nampara, she headed west towards the sea.

Notes:

Demelza misnaming Jim’s co-conspirator as “Vargas” instead of “Vigus” is a nod to the mistake I made in an earlier chapter. I lazily hadn’t bothered to check the name but this time I did. I have corrected it in Chapter 21--anyone who noticed it very graciously did not call me out on it.

I now use this as my name checker with all my Poldark fics!

http://winstongraham.yolasite.com/resources/Pol%20Who.pdf

Chapter 83: Cold Snap

When Demelza plopped down on the bench, at once the cold seeped up all through her bum and legs. She wouldn’t be able to sit more than a few minutes before her jeans would grow damp and unbearably so. But she couldn't stay long anyway.

There was still almost an hour before she was due at the surgery but she’d need to get back to Nampara first and swap the truck for her bike--then trek all the way to St. Agnes.

Did Ross sit in this very spot last week to sort through his own troubled thoughts? she wondered. Well, maybe he was less a fool than I am and just stood. A stubbed out cigarette lay next to the bench. If that was his, then things are worse than he’s letting on.

She looked out at the sea hoping it might clear, or at least accelerate, her thinking. Today the water was the same gunmetal grey as the sky. Further out only a few white veins zig-zagged through the surf. Any waves were low and flat, leaving behind what looked like foam from a freshly poured ale. 

But it was loud, hardly peaceful, and the return of the sea to the shore was picked up by the wind and roared in her ears. She pulled her itchy beanie down to cover more of her head.

At least… She tried her usual refrain. 

At least there had been something tangible that was troubling Ross and it wasn’t a lack of interest in her or a cooling in his love. Yet, he’d waited so long to tell her this news. He’d even spoken to Prudie of all people before he mentioned anything to her. But could Demelza really accuse anyone of keeping secrets when she was guilty of the same? 

That’s different, she told herself. Especially now that she knew what burdens Ross already carried, telling him about her headaches--which seemed like a thing of the past or maybe the future--could wait. 

At least I know Paul is lying.

The whole situation--what she’d learned from Ross and then from Paul--made her sick. So much careless and wanton evil, and so many innocent folks hurting as a result. 

Despite what she’d said to Paul earlier, she really wasn’t thinking of herself now. 

It was no exaggeration that Ross would give anyone the shirt off his own back. Demelza certainly owed him her life--at least her safety and her happiness--but she was hardly alone. How many people in the neighbourhood had been aided by him in some way at some time, often without them even knowing? It was just Ross’s nature. So any situation that injured him to the benefit of someone greedy and mean, like Warleggan who had hurt just about as many people as Ross had helped, added an extra layer of insult. 

And it wasn’t just Ross who had suffered.

“Oh Jim!” When Demelza said his name aloud, it stuck in her throat, and a tear stung in her eye. 

Even if Jim’s death had truly been by his own hand, which she still did not fully believe, others willfully set the scene in motion. They may not have put the noose around his neck but they were responsible nonetheless. 

Of course it was still possible someone actually killed him to shut him up. But surely the Warleggans weren't that…criminal?  

And now Jinny…Bereft, broken, forever on guard, living only on whatever scraps she dared to claim as hers. Would she ever be able to stand confidently on her own again? She wasn’t just destroyed by losing Jim, but seemed doomed to live out her life as a passive player in everyone else's game.

Demelza vowed never to be such a one. If she had to fight tooth and nail to control her own destiny, she would. Even if she fucked up--which she’d surely do time and again.

How could I have gotten things with Paul so wrong? she wondered. She’d thought it was jealousy that had driven his actions but now saw it much more.

Paul was genuinely scared. 

She’d seen it in his eyes, heard it in his voice. And he had no one to trust so he’d be desperate. What would he do next?

At least I’ve uncovered the truth. 

She had no idea what else she’d done.

---

 

Usually Saturdays at the veterinary clinic were cheerful times, even when there was muck to clear away or hurt animals to tend--or rude pet parents to placate. Demelza enjoyed her work there and saw it as a chance to feel useful and engaged, to be with people who appreciated her abilities and relied on her. Of course she’d had that for years with Ross and Prudie, but outside of Nampara, it was still a new experience for her.

But this morning time dragged and she was so burdened by the uneasy thoughts on an endless loop in her brain, more than once she found herself unfocused as she tried to go about her routine tasks. 

“Fucking hell,” she muttered when she realised she’d hung up on a client without remembering to take their contact details. 

“Don’t fret,” Meggy assured her, ignoring her curse. “They’ll ring back and you can blame it on a bad connection.”

So much for my people skills, Demelza thought gloomily.

It didn't help that Dr. Enys had been called away to Port Isaac to tend to someone important’s equally important horse, so Dr. Behenna, a vet from Truro, was filling in for the day. Behenna may have been just as dedicated to the aid and cure of animal ills, but his approach, his manner differed so widely from Dwight’s, almost as if it were another language altogether. He was well dressed and authoritative, speaking only to the humans in the room and never addressing the animal. And he had a peculiar habit of blaming the patient for any health problems they presented. 

Demelza found this jarring--how could a cat be responsible for its own kidney failure? And yet, Behenna wasn’t nearly as loathsome as Dr. Choake, who seemed to have disdain for all, human or beast alike. And Demelza knew that if Dr. Enys were there, he’d probably vouch for the new doctor, politely reminding her to hold her less-than-generous opinions to herself. Maybe in the end, Behenna’s aims and integrity did match Enys’s, and that’s what mattered most.

Still Behenna wasn’t a mate like Dwight was, and this day she really felt like that was what she needed. A friend. Most of all, she would have liked a sounding board before she talked to Ross about Paul Daniel and George Warleggan.

---

“Ah there you are, I was worried about you.” Ross appeared in the kitchen. Without looking up from her work, Demelza could tell from the sound of his footsteps that he was exhausted.

“I was at the surgery--didn’t you know? It’s Saturday after all and I usually…” Demelza flashed a smile and then went about scrubbing potatoes for supper.

“Usually you don't take my truck out for a drive first,” he said with a tired laugh.

“Oh that.” Demelza stopped what she was doing for a moment but she didn’t turn around. “Sorry I didn't ask first. It was meant to just be a little errand.” 

“Oh?” Ross asked but she turned the tap back on and said no more. 

The potatoes were not very inspiring. Whomever had picked them out (Prudie) hadn’t taken the time to look for blemishes and even blight. Some would need to be pared quite a bit in order to be made palatable. Demelza thought she might try foraging for some rosemary in the garden. Had it all been killed in this cold snap or could she still find some that was salvageable? She hated the idea of resorting to jarred herbs after months of using freshly snipped.

Ross seemed to let his inquiry go and sat down at the table opposite her. He picked up a newspaper but quickly set it aside with a sigh when he saw it from the previous week. 

Demelza held her breath, expecting commentary on Prudie’s housekeeping skills or on her own absence to follow.

“How’s Dwight?” he asked instead. 

“I don’t know. He wasn’t in today but he’s asked if I can come back Thursday afternoon, which isn't my usual schedule but I think I can…” Now she switched on the tea kettle. “If I get an early start on the cleanin’ for the weekend’s guests. Maybe just a little each day…”

“No need. I cancelled the booking,” Ross said. 

“Oh Ross! Again? Why?” she cried. “It's really not too much of a burden without Jinny. I managed it for years…”

“But not while studying for exams and working another job.”

“It’s only part time and I’ll tell Dwight that I can’t come on Thursday or even next weekend…”

“No, no you won’t,” Ross said, “It's not that you're over stretched--although you are. And this isn’t your problem to solve, Demelza. It’s…”

“What Ross?” she asked, both worried about what he might say next and irked that he still didn't seem to accept that his problems were hers.

“Well we just can’t expect anyone--outsiders anyway--to be comfortable in this house until we get the panel heater fixed in the bedroom.”

“Yes, I do see that,” she said and pulled two mugs for tea from the draining board. 

Ross was right. It had been almost unbearable upstairs these last few nights but they’d stuck it out. Still others would not. Demelza might enjoy snuggling under piles of blankets but they couldn’t really ask that of their guests. Nor was she willing to share Ross’s warm body with them. 

“Pete Curnow is coming again later this week to finish the repair--hopefully he’ll be able to change the fuse in the socket this time. If it is the fuse and not an element. But we can’t take the chance--it’s too close to the weekend. I know you worry about our ratings…”

“And we can manage? Not the ratings--I mean, don't we need the income from guests?” she asked and set a steaming mug in front of him. He hadn’t asked for tea but his smile told her he appreciated the gesture all the same.

“We do,” he said solemnly, “but we’ll have to find another way. A way that doesn’t involve you working more outside Nampara.”

She twisted her lips in thought, ignoring that last bit. She knew he wasn’t unsupportive of her work at the surgery, just worried that she was overdoing it.

“Maybe…do we have anything we can sell?” she asked. “I already sold my best dress to the consignment shop but I have some good woolly jumpers I never wear. And there's loads of antiques around the house that might fetch a decent price--copper kettles and historic crockery…”

“I’m not so low that I’d allow you to sell the clothes off your back,” he said looking her in the eyes. She saw he wasn’t insulted by the suggestion--it was coming from the right place. 

“And while you may see them as historic antiques,” he laughed lightly. “I think you'd be disappointed to learn it is all just valueless junk. Besides, I wouldn't dream of separating you from your precious Christmas pudding mould.”

“Ross…”  

But Demelza wasn’t going to let his teasing spoil her determination on that score. She had been so excited to get a proper start on this year’s pudding. Nothing rushed this time. She acquired all the called-for ingredients and steamed it--in a working electric oven--for a whopping eight hours. She'd even been unwrapping it and feeding it a few tablespoons of good brandy at intervals. When Christmas Eve came in a few weeks, it and she would be ready.

Forgetting the potatoes, Demelza sat herself on the edge of the chair next to Ross, ready to jump up again in her restless state. She looked into her mug wishing she knew how to read tea leaves.  It might give her some useful advice.

“No, we’ll sell nothing from Nampara but I have been thinking Tonkin and I may have to sell some Carnmore stock,” he said suddenly.

“Oh Ross!” she sputtered. “No! Surely there’s another way…”

“Not that we'd readily find any buyers. Of course if we don’t have to actually go to trial that will save us a pretty penny,” he sighed. “Then it's only legal fees and whatever settlement Warleggan forces us to pay…”

“Ross, what if a settlement wasn’t necessary? What if it was all…dropped?” She bit her lip and dared to look up at him.

“Yes, well that would be ideal but unless you have some power of persuasion over George Warleggan…no scratch that. I don't even want to joke about you speaking to him.”

“No…” she started again, “what if there was another way?” She felt her heart flutter in her chest and she struggled to catch her breath. But there was no taking it back now.

“Demelza? Do you know something?” Ross narrowed his eyes and pushed his tea aside. Of course he could read her.

“Yes! I do! Oh Ross, it's monstrous but maybe we can do somethin’ with it.” She felt the damn bursting inside of her but the rush felt good, a powerful load finally released. “You see I went to see Paul this mornin’ and I suspected somethin’ was amiss--I just knew it--and when he told me…”

“No! Stop!” Ross shouted and put up his hand. “Don’t say another word!”

“What is it?” she asked and reached for his arm then pulled back.

“You went to see Paul Daniel? You talked to him?” he asked. “Good god! This is unbelievable.”

“I don't understand,” she said softly, trying hard not to whimper in fright and only partially succeeding.

“Paul is the claimant in a lawsuit against me. Surely it should be obvious to you that you should not have any contact with him?!” He shook his head in disbelief, his lips parted as though he was truly at a loss of what else to say to her.

“But Ross, wait until you hear what he told me…”

“No!” He said again, his voice terrible. “No, there is nothing I can learn from that conversation that can be legally useful. Anything, everything, Paul told you is tainted. And it may be far worse than that. Oh Demelza.”  

She’d seen that dark look on him before, heard that angry note come from his snarled lips. She didn’t care to recall those times.

“Worse?” she gulped.

“For starters there’s potential charges of witness tampering, intimidation…” He stood up and began to pace the room.

“Intimidation by me? How? All I did was try to talk to him,” she tried to explain. “Surely I’d still be allowed to do that regardless of whatever it was we talked about--I was Paul’s mate long before I was anythin’ to you.”

“That’s not how it would be seen by the law. Demelza, you’re a member of my household and have been for years.”

“Yes, but what does that mean? Am I not allowed to be my own person and speak to friends?” she asked. She wasn’t challenging him, just the law.

“Of course you can--I think you can anyway--but your interference in this matter is complicated by your proximity to me. Yes, from a legal perspective you're my tenant but it wouldn't take much to uncover you’re also my girlfriend and that we have been intimate for some time…George would have a field day with that intelligence!”

“Is that what’s truly the matter?” Demelza asked. “You don’t want it to get out that we’re together? That we’re sleepin’ together?”

“No, don't be ridiculous.” Ross shook his head again. “That's not my biggest worry right now.”

“Nor should it be. Oh Ross, if you only knew…”

“Demelza--you can't tell me. You just can’t,” he said, clearly troubled that she still didn’t seem to understand the consequences of her actions. “And you can’t tell anyone else either. Not Prudie or Jinny…” He paused and it occurred to her that he might not be able to name anyone else she was close to. 

“No, no I see that,” she answered slowly. Bitter tears were about to come pouring out but instead she flicked an internal switch that hardened her words. “But you needn’t worry, Ross. I've had a lifetime of keepin’ shit to myself, so this shouldn’t be too hard for me, eh?” She popped up from her chair and took a few hasty steps out of the kitchen into the dimly lit passage.

“Demelza, please come back here.”

She paused with her hand on the parlour door and tried to interpret his voice--a sigh signalled he was impatient, the sternness made it sound like a command. What else was there--disappointment? Or was that disgust?

Demelza stood frozen in her tracks for a moment, as though her legs were cemented to the floor. She'd read somewhere scientists on occasion would entomb things that were so radioactive and toxic in lead and concrete. Maybe she should take a cue and seal herself off forever. Before she did any more damage.

“Demelza,” Ross said again. This time a little softer. It was enough to melt her resolve.

“I’ve done it again, Ross! I tried to make things better, to help, but I’ve ruined everythin’...I’m just so young and stupid.” She put her hands to her face and turned away.

“Young but not stupid, “ he said, then stepped closer, following her into the dark parlour and switching on a single wall sconce.  

Demelza ran towards the empty grate and leaning on the cold stone mantel, hid her face again, this time in her folded arms.

“I shouldn’t have been so quick to anger. I know you meant well.” Ross put his hand on her shoulder and gently turned her around. “Oh Demelza, who am I to judge? If the shoe were on the other foot I’d most likely have done exactly the same thing.”

“But Ross, what will you do now that Paul talked to me? Is it too late? Have I screwed this up for you?” she cried, taking his hand in hers. He squeezed it back and pulled her close.

“Maybe not.” He allowed her to rest her wet face against his chest. “I'll tell my solicitor that you--or someone closely associated with me--spoke to Paul, but I can truthfully say I remain ignorant of any of the content discussed.”

“Oh Ross!” she sobbed.

He wrapped his arms tighter around her but it didn’t offer her comfort, just greater sadness at what she might have lost forever.

At the back of everything she did–even when she made a mess of things–there was always a solid reason, even if it was one that others--especially Ross--couldn't agree with. But this time, was it just casual impulse that drove her actions? She had no reason for going over to Paul’s house, she just took it into her head to go and talk some sense into him, and so she did.

For some time Demelza remained motionless leaning against Ross, her tears wetting his soft shirt. She’d grown silent but the sobbing inside hadn’t stopped. It was a miracle he could still stand to hold her and that he’d said the kind words he’d said just now. 

But still, she’d jeopardised his future and had hurt him. Again.  

If she needed any further resolve to never be a parent, it came to her now. To fuck up with someone you love is one thing, but so very different to fuck up with a child you brought into this world. Different responsibilities all together. 

And it was clear to her--no matter how she tried to do the right thing--she would always make mistakes.

 

Notes:

Readers and viewers of Poldark will recognize bits/tone of the argument Ross and Demelza have in this chapter (it is much more violent in Demelza than it comes across in S1.7) although I sorta went in another direction with it. The line about not being so desperate as to sell the clothes off her back is also "recycled" from Debbie Horsfield's script (in that it was gown, I believe?). I also borrowed and played with this bit from Winston Graham’s The Stranger From The Sea:

“At the back of everything Demelza did –all the times she did apparently wayward things – and still does! – there’s a good solid reason, even though in the old days it was not a reason or a reasoning I could agree with. Clowance is more wayward in that respect than Demelza ever was, because her behaviour seems to be on casual impulse. She has no reason for going over to Trenwtih, she just took it into her head to go and look at the house, and so did.”

Also this from The Angry Tide: “Dwight looked at the other man.
‘We’re both physicians, Dr Behenna, and I believe equally dedicated to the succour and cure of human ills. Our treatments may differ as widely as two languages, but our aims are similar and our integrity, I trust, is not in question.”

Chapter 84: Tea and Sympathy

“Fucking hell, it’s cold today!” Demelza muttered to herself. Luckily no one was close enough to hear her curse. She was usually better disciplined about her language when she was away from Nampara. 

Inside the surgery lobby the heat was blasting but everytime the front door opened, in rushed a gust of chilly air. Demelza rubbed her rough raw hands together to warm them, then returned her attention to the pile of invoices she was trying to sort at the front desk. Some dated back to the spring and should have been filed ages ago. 

Dr. Choake didn’t seem to be very adept at the business end of things. Did he not take it seriously or did he just think it was someone else's job to run the place and sort the details? No doubt he’d blame Meggy or Dwight or even Demelza if things truly went tits up. Demelza wondered if the surgery was doing well financially or if she now had another friend facing possible ruin. She thought to make a casual mention of things when she next spoke with Dwight to see what he revealed. 

Stay out of others’ affairs, you fool! she chastised herself. It would be a hard lesson to learn--in fact it was an instinct she’d have to unlearn. 

The next time the door opened she didn’t even glance up from her work. Even though it was only late afternoon, it was so dark out already, a peculiar cloudy and opaque grey. Perhaps it would storm soon.

“Demelza, this is a treat to see you here. I thought you were back at school?” Caroline Penvenen’s familiar voice sang out. She was dressed in a smart woollen coat and leather gloves in exactly the same shade of plum. A few perfect beads of rain rested on her uncovered blonde head. They shone in the harsh overhead light and made it look like she wore a halo.

“I’m just here to lend a hand today,” Demelza replied. “Erm, do you have an appointment?” she asked, knowing that she most certainly did not.

“Hello Miss Penvenen,” Meggy called over her shoulder. “It’s a surprise to see you too. We weren’t expecting you until tomorrow but we’ll have Horace’s prescription ready in just a moment.”

“I was in the neighbourhood and thought I’d call in on my way home,” Caroline said as her eyes darted around the place looking for Dr. Enys.

“I’m afraid Dr. Enys is with a patient,” Demelza explained politely. “And he’ll be in there for some time.” She stepped around the desk and directed Caroline to take a seat while she waited.

“Just my luck to have missed him. Oh well,” Caroline tried to sound casual. 

Meggy tried to hide a snicker but Demelza felt some sympathy. She knew first hand how hard it is to be in love when the playing field is not quite level–or if the rules of the game are not equally understood. She would have liked to have chatted Caroline up a bit, just to be kind, but she knew she should return to her futile attempts at filing.

All afternoon, her focus had once again been so scattered that she hadn’t made much headway at all. She hadn’t meant to sigh so audibly but she caught Caroline’s attention all the same. 

“Hmm…aren’t you all glummed up?” Caroline looked Demelza up and down in her messy scrubs then smiled. It was a friendly smile, one of commiseration not condemnation.

“Oh? Glum…Do I? I’m sorry, only I was a bit distracted,” Demelza said and flashed one back, albeit a weak one. She retraced her steps and ruffled Horace’s ears to try to escape further scrutiny or conversation on her mood and its corresponding facial expressions. 

The dog received the attention gladly and tried to offer Demelza his belly, nearly slipping out of Caroline’s arms in the process.

“Horace, darling, even if your heart truly lies elsewhere, please do try to hide it from me,'' Caroline said, slipping him back in his sleek little carrier, which happened to match Caroline’s winter attire. “The dear should be a therapy dog, really. He always senses when something is amiss with other people.”

“Amiss? No really I’m fine…” Demelza stammered.

“Horace is never wrong.” Caroline smiled and raised her brow inquisitively.

“Does he give good advice?” Demelza laughed.

“Is that what you’re in need of?” Caroline asked. “And here I was going to suggest a spa day or even just a pedicure to ease your mind. What about our mutual friend, the good Dr. Enys? Have you spoken to him about your dilemma, whatever it is?”

“Yes, sorta but he…he doesn't really have time while he’s workin’…” 

This was partially true. Demelza had attempted to speak to Dwight earlier, when she found him alone standing next to an empty coffee pot. 

He’d been trying to decide whether to brew another carafe of the “good stuff” (as Meggy called it) or just make do with a mug of instant (the “shit stuff” as Emma called it). He looked worn out and overworked or maybe like everyone else she knew, he too wasn’t sleeping well.

“Always go for the good stuff,” Demelza had advised and cautiously stepped closer.

“Will you have any?” he’d asked in return.

“Erm no thank you. But you go ahead…Dr. Enys, I was wonderin’ if I could get your opinion on somethin’...” she’d begun.

“Of course, any time, Demelza. Is this about your course of study next year?”  

“No, nothin’ like that. It's more personal.”

“Go ahead, I’m all ears.” His smiles were always encouraging.

“Well…have you ever made a mistake with a friend that you are desperate to clear up but they just won’t hear you out?”

“Did you intend to hurt this friend?” he’d asked and nodded his head to show he was listening. 

“Of course not!” Demelza had blurted out. “I’d never!”

“Well, perhaps if you were to explain to your friend…”

He knows exactly who I’m talking about. What did I expect to come of this? Immediately she felt awash with embarrassment for even bringing it up. It wasn’t fair to Dwight to put him in the middle of her troubles with Ross.

“That your intentions didn’t match your impact, and that you acknowledge this…” he’d continued.

“Thank you, that's a brilliant take,” Demelza had interrupted him, desperate to get out of the room. “I’ll go find you some milk for your coffee.” 

Once again she’d behaved like such a fool. And a young one at that.

But oddly, now, standing in front of Caroline Penvenen, a woman who was no longer a stranger but still not quite a friend, Demelza didn't feel that same kind of humiliation. In fact she recognised a strange sense of trust--there was something very honest about Caroline or at least about what she said whenever she spoke, and Demelza always felt a bit more certain about where she stood with her, more so than with many other people who she ostensibly knew better.

“That’s disappointing to hear Dr. Enys didn’t deliver any bon conseil or at least some bon mots,” Caroline said.

“It wasn't his fault--he tried,” Demelza added defensively of Dwight. She’d hate if she’d cast him in a bad light.

“Well, if I were to guess all you missed out on would be some hems and haws, vague but deep thoughts and no definitive conclusion?” Caroline cocked her head, suggesting she was familiar with Dwight's hesitancy to tell someone else what to do.

“I don’t know about that,” Demelza laughed. She had an inkling that any tongue-tied state of Dwight’s was reserved for Caroline alone.

“It’s settled then. You are coming with me, Demelza. Clock out or whatever one does. Get your coat--it’s beastly cold outside,” Caroline ordered.

“Oh thanks but if it’s a pedicure you’re suggestin’, I don’t really have time now,” Demelza said, trying to sound polite. She couldn't just up and leave her station nor did she have the money for such an indulgence.

“No, we’re going for a coffee…and by that flutter of your eyelids I can see that doesn’t quite appeal to you.” Caroline twisted her pretty mouth as she tried to puzzle Demelza out. “Tea then. There's an adorable tea shop in Tywarnhayle Road. No excuses. I’ll tell Dwight I need your assistance and he’s sure to let you go.”

“No need to make excuses with Dr. Enys, you’ve done enough good here today, Demelza,” Meggy said with a wink. “You go on then.” 

----

“Now, tell me all, darling,” Caroline said as she settled into the driver’s seat and exchanged one set of leather gloves for another. Perhaps these were meant for driving whereas the ones she’d worn inside had served some other purpose. 

Demelza couldn’t see the difference and looked at her own mitted hands for a moment before she gave Horace another pet through the top of his carrier bag. The pug, still insulted that he’d once again been confined, emitted a mix of a snuffle and a growl, to voice his complaint. But as soon as the engine started, his indignation vanished and he began snoring loudly. 

Caroline pulled onto the empty road and proceeded towards Perranporth at a sportingly fast speed.

It took Demelza a moment to realise the pleasant sensation she was feeling across her bum was from a heated seat. On a cold day it was a luxury she could really appreciate. 

She’d never ridden in so fine a car before in all her life. And as the Porsche continued its race north, she hoped her life wouldn’t be ending today. She gripped the door handle and tried not to grimace. 

Did Caroline really want to know what ailed her or was she just being polite? It was also entirely possible that Caroline was fishing for some juicy gossip.

No, she’d decided earlier to trust Caroline’s sincerity. 

Demelza looked to her and saw that Caroline was watching her expectantly--instead of the road.  

“It’s not really my tale to tell,” Demelza began quickly. Thankfully that did the trick. Apparently satisfied, Caroline returned her gaze to the windscreen in front of her. 

“And that’s precisely the problem!” Demelza added, as the shadowy scenery sped past them. 

“Sounds complicated--and intriguing,” Caroline encouraged.

“Are you stayin’ around here long or are you goin’ back to Bristol soon?” Demelza asked, hoping to steer Caroline towards a new topic of conversation.

“I’ll stay through the holidays but I have to be in London on New Year’s for a gala we’re documenting. I’m hoping I can convince Unwin to allow me to do that solo so I don't have to spend any time with him. Of all nights–he’d be insufferable on New Year’s,” Caroline said. “But I must admit, I do love Christmas in Cornwall.”

“No doubt your uncle will be glad to have you,” Demelza added.

“I was hoping someone else would be too, but he didn't seem to have any time for me today,” Caroline sighed. “Okay, nice try, Demelza, but I think you are trying to change the subject. You were telling me about your intrigue?”

“My intrigue? Oh yes, well…”

Demelza once again looked out at the grey landscape, her whole body humming with agitation. She sensed she’d better continue talking to keep Caroline focused but she knew she really shouldn’t say more. 

She also knew that she would.

“You see,” she began cautiously, “I came across some…information, harmful information, and because it was wrongly gotten, I can’t do anythin’ about it.”

“Wrongly obtained? You can’t mean, illegal? You?” Now Caroline laughed a hearty laugh and Demelza realised how ridiculous a claim it sounded. And yet it was true.

“Is it about you?” Caroline asked. “Or maybe about your Ross Poldark?” She winked.

“Yes, it concerns Ross very much. And I can’t tell him because it involves the lawsuit against Carnmore…” 

You’ve said too much! Just stop! She pounded her fist on her thigh in frustration.

“Yes, I heard something about that,” Caroline said, wrinkling her nose ever so slightly to show her distaste. 

Demelza didn't need much more of a signal to continue.

“But Ross is aware that I know somethin’ that he can’t be told. Still he won’t let me tell him. I understand why, I really do, but to not talk about it is…killin’ me.”

“Maybe I can help,” Caroline said. “Perhaps…let’s try this. Just answer my questions, telling me what can, and then you won't have actually divulged a thing.”

“That sounds a bit duplicitous?” Demelza snorted.

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Caroline said, and swerved to pull in next to the little tea shop. She nodded towards Demelza to take the pug, still asleep in his bag, and follow her in.

Caroline was right--the Blue Box was an adorable tea shop--but others must have been in on her secret because the place was surprisingly busy. They found a table in the far corner and once they’d ordered, Caroline continued her prodding. 

“Okay, so someone is suing our darling Ross?” Caroline asked in a voice just above a whisper.

“Yes, George Warleggan,“ Demelza confirmed. “Not Ross personally but the Carnmore Brewery.

“And you think it is a bogus claim?”

“I know it is!” Demelza cried then lowered her voice. “Thank you,” she said politely, as the server set the little steaming pot of red berry and hibiscus in front of her.

“You discovered something?” Caroline continued her probing.

Demelza looked up and bit her lip.

“Someone told you something?” Caroline tried again.

“Yes…”

“Someone you should not have been speaking to?” 

“Yes but to be fair, I didn’t know it would be considered intimidatin’ a witness,” Demelza fretted. “I mean, seriously? Me? I never even intimidated a housefly.”

“A beautiful and intelligent young woman like you? You are more formidable than you may realise, my dear, Demelza.” Caroline laughed then turned serious again. “Ok, so you spoke to a witness…never mind, I didn't ask that. Someone, for whatever reason and in whatever setting, told you about some wrongdoing?”

“Yes…”

“In some detail?”

“In quite a bit of detail,” Demelza replied.

“And…does George Warleggan, the actor in the aforementioned lawsuit, also know about this wrong doing?”

Demelza paused again, open-mouthed unsure of what to say--or to deny. But it was enough for Caroline to make the connection. 

“So George is not only aware but responsible for the wrongdoing?” Caroline formed her lips into a perfect O in mock surprise.

“Maybe…” Demelza gulped.

“I see…” Caroline nodded to show her understanding--and her alliance.

“Yes, so you also see how…fucked the situation is?” Demelza sighed. “I can't just sit back and let this happen to Ross…and yet that is exactly what I must do.”

“Oh Demelza, I can see why it's so painful. And especially since Ross won’t let you tell him something that would help.” Caroline leaned forward and touched Demelza’s hand. “Oh, he is so stubborn, isn’t he? No wonder he and Dwight are such good friends.They have the same tedious discipline. But they are both lucky to have women in their lives who are equally stubborn and infinitely wiser about what's best for them.”

Demelza laughed then caught herself. 

Dwight knew Demelza was in Ross’s life. Had he passed this tidbit on to Caroline or could she just see it for herself? Or was it just an innocent, offhand comment? To the outside world, Demelza worked for Ross and legally was his tenant--wasn’t that what he had said just the other day?--so maybe that's all she meant.

Demelza stared into her teacup for a moment and felt a familiar frustration morph into an unfamiliar anger. 

She wished she could sit here with this woman and talk openly about her boyfriend, about her relationship in its glories and also the bumps they’d encountered along the road. Demelza would like that--and she needed it. That her only real confidante was Prudie was…well, it felt stifling and unfair. 

Today Demelza found the bonds of secrecy particularly chafing.

“Listen, I think I can help,” Caroline said.

“Oh, I don't know about that and even if you could, you probably shouldn’t…”

“Bah! Hear me out.” Caroline waved away her concern. “George Warleggan is seeking membership at Sidwells, an old social club in Truro. To be honest, they weren’t really considering him, or so my uncle tells me, but they need an excuse to reject him outright. Now they’ll have one.”

“I don't understand…Oh you can’t tell them this! Promise me!” Demelza pleaded. 

“Oh I won’t.”

“Then how will they know?”

“I’ll talk to my uncle and see that it is done. Don’t worry--I won't tell any details just that George is building a combative reputation and even less suitable for membership than we thought before.”

“But Caroline! What if George learns about all this. That it was me that spoke to Pau…that I…” she caught herself before she said more.

“He won't. Demelza, I promise. But it's public record that the lawsuit has been filed. George did it to flex his muscle but he must now live with the consequence of that attention. He has to expect some sort of scrutiny by the very gentlemen he aspires to rub shoulders with when he puts something like that into action? It’s aggressive and discourteous.”

“Yes, well, Ross…he isn't exactly a gentleman,” Demelza huffed. “And certainly isn't a member of Sidwells!”

“No but the Poldark family is old--some people care about that still.” Caroline stirred even more sugar into her coffee as she spoke. “Besides, his uncle Charles Poldark is a member.”

“Oh Ross would never ask Uncle Charles for anythin’…”

“Charles may not exactly care a whit for Ross personally--and in truth I don't know if he does or doesn't, this is just hypothetical--but regardless, the man will need to publicly care for the family name. So this might be one instance where Poldark blood trumps Warleggan cash.”

“And your uncle would do that? Reject Warleggan’s application for membership? For Ross?”

“He’ll do it for me,” Caroline smiled.

“And why would you want that?” Demelza put down her cup and looked her in the eye.

“Where shall I begin?” Caroline cleared her throat. This was clearly something she’d worked through many times before. “Being born of money and privilege myself, I have a disdain for those who would stop at nothing to acquire it, and then want to wield it like a cudgel. It is a responsibility, the way I see it, often a burden, but it should be used to make life better. Sometimes for oneself but especially for others.”

“Oh,” Demelza said. She was genuinely surprised to hear this coming from Caroline and at once she felt ashamed to have ever categorised her as shallow simply because of her money and looks.

“Warleggan only sees power and doesn't see people,” Caroline continued. “That’s the bigger philosophy of why he irks me, not his background or breeding. And the smaller, more practical matter is that Ross is a dear friend of Dwight’s and I’m a dear friend of Dwight’s, therefore Ross is by extension my dear friend as well.”

Demelza wondered if Ross saw it that way. He might be quite surprised to learn that Caroline Penvenen thought about him at all. He would also be equally surprised--and probably angry--that Demelza was discussing this matter with her. And yet, she had no regrets. She instantly felt so much lighter.

“I thought that applied to your enemy’s friends?” Demelza laughed.

“Yes, well whatever. I never cared for that silly proverb,” Caroline said. “Is it a proverb?”

 “We learned that in school,” Demelza replied. “From what I recall, its origin is a sanskrit proverb but when Shakespeare uses it in Romeo & Juliet it's presented more as a paradox, as a rhetorical device…oh I’m sorry you didn't really ask, did you?”

"You are a fascinating person, Demelza, speaking of paradoxes.” Caroline narrowed her eyes like she was looking at her for the first time. “Now let's order some cake to go with this tea? Shall we?”

“I won’t say no,” Demelza giggled. “I’m suddenly starvin’!”

Chapter 85: Clearing Up

Tonight Ross had to fight the wind in order to close the heavy oak door behind him. Like so many other times he’d arrived home late, he stopped in the dark hallway after he removed his coat. At first pass, it might seem as though all was quiet but surely somewhere in the house Demelza would be moving about, and if he listened carefully, he might catch the faint sounds of her industrial ways.

For a moment the rain paused its battering and Ross heard humming alternating with muttering, and followed by what sounded like the clanking of glass, coming from the kitchen.

Thank god, she’s here, he thought with relief. But of course she was. Where else would she have been?

Without switching on the light, he moved quietly to the end of the corridor. He enjoyed catching glimpses of Demelza when she thought she was alone. A few seconds here or there, never long, never intruding--just enough to see a trace of her mind’s workings as her lips mumbled and her hands flew. She was so generous with him in the sharing of her thoughts and feelings but he cherished the reminder that she had an inner life of her own, one that he’d never be able to fully fathom.

Tonight she’d pushed her long sleeves up over her elbows and wore a pair of purple washing up gloves. A basin of very sudsy water sat on the worksurface next to her, along with half the contents of the refrigerator. 

Ross laughed lightly. He knew her well enough to know she was stress cleaning. At least he hoped it was stress cleaning--and not rage cleaning. 

Her humming resumed and his last fear was assuaged.

“That hungry?” he teased. “Are you looking for something in particular?” 

“Oh Ross, you’re home,” she said softly then her head disappeared again inside the refrigerator. “Note to self--if you put the stickiest sauces on the top shelf, they drip down on everythin’ below. Fucking hell…this one shouldn’t be in here.” She twisted her lips as she removed an ancient pot of lemon curd then rinsed her sponge again to resume her mission.

While she scrubbed, her leg twitched as it did when she was deep in concentration. She was wearing a pair of his old pyjama pants, and even with the bottoms rolled up and the waist rolled down, they were entirely too large for her. 

Still, Ross managed to make out her lovely bum underneath all that flannel as it wiggled along with the rest of her body as she bent over her task.

She was not to be deterred.

“They say talking to oneself is a sign of genius.” Ross leaned against the doorframe but came no further. 

“I don’t know, Ross. I think you mean madness,” she half laughed. “Ah, here’s the culprit!” Now she held up a greasy jar of sambal.

“When did we acquire that?” Ross asked.

“After we came back from Manchester, I tried to recreate the Nasi Goreng we had with Verity. Only this isn't quite authentic sambal, but it was all I could find, so it was a dismal failure.”

“I recall it was excellent,” he said.

“A minute ago you didn't recall it at all. Don’t lie, Ross.”

“It wasn’t a lie. All your cooking is fabulous.” Now he sat down on the opposite side of the table, closer but still out of her way. “But you do know if you want any specialty ingredients, we can probably get them online?”

“And waste our grocery money on shippin’?” She sounded like she’d been insulted. “Besides, next time I’ll just make my own--I found a few recipes…” She got lost in the thought for just a moment then snapped back into focus. “It's so late, Ross, have you eaten?” She paused and offered a weak smile. 

Her eyes looked tired.

Of course they did. He knew she hadn’t slept well for days and he was entirely to blame. And this time it hadn’t been his love and affection that had kept her awake but his grim troubles with Carnmore and the cold house. Perhaps his own cold attitude had been even more to blame.

“I did,” he replied. “But tell me, did you?” A quick scan of the kitchen revealed no signs of supper having been prepared or consumed.

“Yes, I caught a quick bite after my shift at the surgery before I came home.” Her sigh gave the impression it had been a subpar compromise after a busy day of her own. He’d never guess it was cake she’d eaten or that she’d been spilling her guts to Caroline Penvenen whilst eating it. Nor could he know it was residual agitation from that conversation that now fueled her busy state.

“Demelza, you’re right--it is late. So why are you cleaning the refrigerator now?” Ross dared to ask. He got up from his seat, thinking she might allow him to help her.

“You mean besides the fact that this disgustin’ spill has been here for weeks and all three of us have ignored it?” She flashed a look that would have put anyone in their place. She had a point.

“To be honest I hadn't noticed,” Ross tried.

“Oh I'm not blamin’ you, Ross. Or Prudie,” she said and sighed again. “In truth, I’m doin’ it to keep my mind off of other stuff…”

“Stuff? Can I guess what that might be?” He reached out his hand to her, sensing the furious cleaning was coming to a close. She was ready to talk.

“No, well… yes, you can.” She placed her gloved hand in his, then looked up at his face. “Oh Ross, how long will it be before I learn to keep my mouth shut and my feet still? And stop actin’ on instinct rather than reason?”

“I’ve told you before, I'm hardly the one to lecture you about impulse, so if that’s what you are wanting, you’ll need to seek it elsewhere.” He shook his head but also smiled to let her know she did in fact have his support. “Besides, I’ve been told that on occasion, good can come from our less-than-rational actions.”

“Yes, well…” She pulled her hand free but then removed her gloves and leaned against the work surface, looking at the floor. “Maybe our luck will turn…”

“I’ll count on you to have hope enough for us both,” he said.

“Yes, Ross…” She still hadn’t looked up again and now picked at her thumbnail.

“Do you have much schoolwork tonight?” he asked, thinking she might appreciate a change of subject.

“No. In fact we have no classes tomorrow. We’re meant to use that free time to complete assignments or revise. A sensible student would do just that.”

“And you? Are you not sensible? What are your plans?”

“Oh I’ll eventually come ‘round but not before a few hours of distractin’ myself, most likely gettin’ absorbed in some non-essential chores around here, then of course there’s the time wasted doubtin’ myself.”

“Please don’t doubt yourself,” he said firmly.

“But Ross, you‘re not really one to lecture me on that score either, are you?”

“Ouch,” he said. “I deserve that, I suppose…”

“Anyway it's good news that I don’t have to be up late tonight for school,” she said. “I’m beyond tired.”

“Yes, that is good news but Demelza, I’m afraid I've some bad news,” he said.

“Oh?” She looked up curiously. His voice made it clear it wasn’t anything tragic--maybe only something disappointing.

“Pete Curnow can’t come back until Monday at the earliest to repair the bedroom heater. I think with this cold snap--we’ll need to sleep in your room in the barn.”

“Is that all? That’s your version of bad news?” She arched her brows and laughed. “I’ve been told worse, you know.”

“I can try harder next time,” he teased.

“Well, I’ll not lie. I prefer our room here, even if it's a little cold.”

“Demelza…” Now it was his turn to raise an incredulous brow. “It's not just a little cold. You can see your breath up there. Unless…you don't want me in your private space?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Ross.” 

They all still referred to the little room in the north barn as hers. But it was where Ross and Demelza retreated whenever guests were letting the house, so it had become a shared space as well. 

“Besides, need I remind you, Landlord, that you own all this, every outbuildin’, every room at Nampara? So it isn’t really mine, is it?” It was almost a smirk.

“I own it until the bank changes their mind,” he replied, then thought more of what she’d just said. “Landlord? Really? You know the other day, when I referred to you as my tenant, I was only trying to explain how…” He gently turned her around again so he could better read her face.

“I know, I know…that’s just a legal perspective,” she answered.

“And?” he asked, bending just a little to look level into her eyes.

She rolled them and laughed, then returned her attention to the refrigerator. With a dry cloth, she wiped down the shelves and the inner walls. Then satisfied with her work, she started carefully returning things to their proper place inside.

“Yes, Ross, and I know I am more to you than just your tenant,” she said softly then laughed. “Or your kitchen maid.“ At that she thrust the offending lemon curd and sambal into his hands. 

“What should I…what do you want me to…” He fumbled, his eyes darting from the jars to her questioningly.

Amused by his confusion she bit her lip to contain a full giggle then pointed to the bin. He complied with her order, more than happy to have cheered her spirits--even if it was at his own expense. 

“Can we abandon the rest of this…and go to your room now?” He flashed her a pleading look.

“I could live with that plan.” She winked then playfully put her hands, once again sticky, to his cheek.

“I suppose I deserve that,” he laughed. “Or are you planning on scrubbing me down too?”

“Or maybe lickin'? Spicy and sweet--that just about describes you, Ross.”

“Am I not also bitter?” He took her hand and put one of her fingers in his mouth. 

“Oh yes and we forgot sour,” she added, offering another of her fingers then pulling it away when he pretended to bite.

“Then I shall endeavour to remind you daily,” he said and pulled her into a kiss.

----

Chapter 86: In Search of Warmth

With gracious timing, the moon appeared from behind a cloud and lit the yard for Ross and Demelza as they dashed through the freezing rain to the north barn. It was a trek Demelza had made thousands of times before, and even in the dark, she knew where to step to avoid the ruts and puddles. Ross was less alert and almost lost his shoe in the mud halfway. He looked up to see Demelza already opening the door, waiting for him and laughing at his misfortune. 

“How are you not at all wet?” he asked as she shut the door behind them.

“Just younger and faster, I suppose,” she teased, then worry betrayed her and she rubbed his wet arm. “But you should have worn a coat, Ross, it is winter, you know.” 

“I didn’t want to delay,” Ross said hungrily. 

“That so?” she replied. 

Without bothering to switch on the light, she began the climb up the narrow staircase, he followed closely behind. 

“Well, sorry to disappoint you but you’re goin’ to wait afterall,” she smiled. “Stay here, just a moment.” She opened her bedroom door just enough to slip inside and left him dripping in the corridor.

“Are you hiding something from me?” he said playfully and put his ear to the door to listen. 

“Yes, I’ve another man in here,” she called. 

A drawer slammed shut and what sounded like a chair was dragged across the floor. He could only wonder what she was doing.

“No worries. He’s just climbed out the window,” Demelza laughed and flung the door open. “Listenin’ at keyholes, Ross? Really? Can’t I have a secret or two?”

“Of course…I…” Ross hung his head, ashamed, but she laughed again and he saw she bore him no ill will.

“Oh don’t sit there, you’re all wet.” She directed him away from the bed. “Take your clothes off first. At least your trousers.”

“Yes ma’am,” he obeyed and began to undress. 

“If you must know, I was hidin’ your Christmas presents,” she said. 

“Demelza, I hope you haven’t gone overboard for Christmas. You should save your hard-earned money for yourself.”

“Ross, don’t spoil this for me. This is our first proper Christmas together and I want to give you something better than a friendship bracelet.”

“Hey, I cherished that gift,” he said.

“Sure you did, Ross.” She took his wet socks from him and watched as he peeled off his trousers. 

“If you are that desperate to give me something, you could give me my pyjamas back,” he teased and unbuttoned his wet shirt.

“No, you wouldn't want them now--they’re a bit soggy, I’m afraid. Just get under the covers if you’re cold.”

She didn’t join him straightaway but instead went to the window, looking out at the yard. She grew quiet and once again Ross watched, wondering what was going on in her thoughts.

“The moon is bright enough,” she said at last. “Isn’t quite full but it’s lightin’ the yard all the same.”

“What do you see?”

“Just rain. It’s sorta pretty now that we’re not in it,” she said. “Ross, did you mean it earlier?”

“Erm…” he fumbled, trying to puzzle out just what she might be referring to.

“That sometimes good can come of impulse,” she helped him out, “Or were you just sayin’ that to placate me?”

“I’m not sure you are one to ever be placated,” he smiled and patted the bed next to him. 

She pulled off her own socks then laid down next to him, her face level on his pillow. He could smell the delightful mixture of fresh air, lemons, and wood smoke on her skin and hair.

“Well I suppose I wouldn't be here right now if it weren’t your impulse,” she sighed. 

He tucked one wayward curl behind her ear then softly ran his fingers along her shoulder then her cheek.

“You mean that night in my truck when we first…made love?” he asked.

Now she laughed and rolled on her back.

“I meant bein’ here at all,” she said. “The other night, years earlier. You turned around and came back to get me and Garrick at that bus stop.”

“That's not exactly why I turned around,” he muttered. “But yes, bringing you here all those years ago was a bit of an impulse.”

“Have you regrets?”

“About picking you up on the side of the road and taking you away from danger?”

“No, about last spring. The first time we…in your truck?”

“No, never,” he said firmly. “And listen, that--being with you like that then--might have been an impulse but after that? Going to get you from your father’s, bringing you back here, and sleeping with you again…”

“And again…” she added.

“Those were deliberate choices,” he said. “And no, I have no regrets about anything other than I should have told you earlier than that night how important you are to me and how much I love you.”

“Oh Ross…” she said and put her hand to his face.

He looked up at her shining eyes. 

“I remember that night…” he said softly.

He remembered it quite well. The night he brought her back from Illogan, the first time they spent together here, in her room, in her bed.

How he’d beckoned her to him. How he’d kissed her, slowly, intentionally, to make sure she knew just how wanted she was. How she held him hard in her hands. How they took their time exploring before she guided him inside her. How afterwards they stayed so close, bodies entwined, gentle fingers stroking every inch of the other’s skin. How their kisses grew soft, tender, generously doled out.

No rush and no regrets. When she’d embraced him that night, he experienced a warmth he’d so long ago forgotten.

Yes, there was so much desire between them but there was also belonging. And he’d begun to once again feel alive.

“Do you remember Luca and Alessandro were here celebratin’ their anniversary?” she asked.

“They had quite the party, all night,” he laughed. Although at the time, he had no cares for what went on in the courtyard. Only what happened inside mattered to him. 

“That was only six months ago,” she whispered. “And we had no idea where we were headed.”

“I think we did,” he said. “We knew we wanted to be together and we made that happen. I told you it was a choice.”

“But Ross, tell me honestly, can we really move forward?” Her eyes were glistening with the beginnings of tears but her lips gave a trembling smile. “You do forgive me?”

“Demelza, Listen to me,” he said. “I know you would never deliberately harm anyone. Especially not me. So yes, I did mean it and I want you to…”

“Yes?” she asked eagerly.

“Oh my love…” he pleaded. How to convince her to be easier on herself? “For so many years you had no one to turn to to make things right when they were wrong. You had learned to take things head on and maybe sometimes that was more than you could handle alone, but that is still your instinct. And at its core, it's a good one.”

“That's not quite true, Ross. I wasn’t alone, not since I’ve known you,” she said. “Long before you loved me, you let me know I could trust you. And I knew you were someone I could turn to. You were the first person to really care. And that I cared for in return.”

“Demelza…” It was his turn to get choked up.

“But now? I’m even luckier because I have not just you but those folks I met through you. Verity, and Prudie--don’t laugh but yes, she can sometimes know a thing or two. And Dr. Enys and even…” She paused as though she deliberately caught herself before she said any more.

“They are lucky to have you,” he said and kissed the top of her head.

“Well, why don't we agree that the next time I feel inspired to go out and save the world single-handed, I’ll consult with one of them first?”

Ross chuckled, amused by this proposal.

“You disagree? Maybe you should do the same, Ross?” She shrugged. “Oh maybe not. Every one of them would have told you not to sleep with me!”

“But not you. You wouldn't have. Unless…Did you think it was wrong?” he asked her. “Do you?”

“No. And you’ve asked me that before,” she sighed and planted a kiss on his scruffy jaw. “Of course it wasn’t wrong and still isn’t. Because I know you and you know me, and I know what it is we share with each other. But our circumstances are unique, I mean, let’s face it, we aren’t usual folk, Ross.”

“Maybe that's precisely why we get on so well,” he laughed again. How good that felt.

When she switched off the light, the room was awash with moonlight. They both grew quiet admiring its rare beauty.

“Ross?” she asked, sitting up suddenly. “Is it over warm in here?”

“You are just used to the Baltic temperatures of the house,” he said.

“Oh? Is that it? I was gonna suggest I strip off a few layers--or all of them--but if you think…”

“Please allow me,” he said seriously, and pulled her shirt over her head. He kissed her bare shoulder and then put his mouth to one breast, then the other.

“Now tell me,” he whispered, “Are you too warm or too cold?”

“Mmm,” she purred, then reached to slip off her bottoms as well. She pressed herself closer to him, her legs cold against his under the covers. 

“You still need warming,” he said softly and placed himself over her. With his broad hands he rubbed the length of her legs but when he reached the back of her knees, she started to giggle.

“I forget how ticklish you are,” he said, giving her one last teasing stroke before he rested his hand on her belly to feel her laugh. She tried to sit up but he gently pushed her back down. After what felt like another solid minute of laughing she finally stopped and pulled him close so she could snuggle against his chest.

“Do you think it will snow soon?” she asked. “I hope so.”

“You won't be able to ride your bicycle to work if it does.”

“For Christmas maybe,” she added. “It was that pretty last year.”

“Another year has passed and once again I have failed to provide you with heat,” he said.

“Oh stop that,” she said. “We have other ways of stayin’ warm now.”

“Yes we do.” He kissed her but could tell she wasn’t done speaking.

“Ross, I believe I promised you a Christmas tree this year.”

“Yes, you did,” he answered. “Why don’t we go this weekend and pick one out together. Although god knows what we’ll hang on it.”

“Oh can we, Ross?” 

In the moonlight he could see she was smiling her brightest smile. 

“We’ll sort somethin’ to decorate it with. Maybe do some bakin and there’s loads of pretty things all over the farm--berries and pinecones and such--and probably we’d find proper ornaments stuffed in some old trunk if we know where to look.”

“Whatever makes you happy, my love,” he laughed lightly.

----

Ross woke and found the pillow next to his cold and empty. He didn't need to switch on the light to see Demelza standing at the window again.

“Demelza, come back to bed,” he beckoned.

“Oh Ross, I hope I didn’t wake you,” she said softly. 

“At least put something on, you'll freeze,” he chided. She had wrapped a blanket around her but underneath she was still naked. 

She seemed to ignore his pleas and turned her gaze back to the yard.

“Demelza?” he asked and sat up fully. “What is it? Are you unwell? Is something wrong?”

“Probably not. Just…Prudie still isn’t home and it's nearly three.”

“She’s most likely out with her mates, pissed and having a laugh. Did she tell you where she was going?” he asked.

“No she didn’t. I know Tina’s pre-holiday party is Saturday--Prudie’s been lookin’ forward to that for ages but she didn't say anythin’ about tonight. She was gone when I got home and she hasn’t responded to any of my texts.”

“She’s a grown woman and does have a life of her own,” Ross said and rolled over. Still he could tell this was bothering her. “Demelza, are you worried?” he asked.

“Makes me sound like Prudie if I say yes I am,” she tried to laugh. “It’s just not like her. She’s usually asleep by nine o’clock.”

“Sometimes even earlier,” he added, then saw it did nothing to lighten the mood. 

“You think Garrick knows somethin’?” she asked in all earnestness.”Is that why he didn't come out here with us and insisted on stayin’ behind–do you think she told him she’d be back tonight?”

“Demelza, Garrick waits for anyone and everyone who has ever left, whether he’s just met them or if it's one of us. He’s not very selective.”

“He’s more perceptive than you think..”

“Come to bed. I wager she’s fine and will be home before we even rise. Besides, there's nothing you can do now.”

“You’re probably right, Ross,” she said and moved towards the bed. She slid back into his arms and settled against him. “Everythin’ always seems more grim before dawn. And the dawn always comes, doesn’t it?”

“Go to sleep,” he said. “We still have quite a few hours before it’s light.”

“Yes, Ross,” she said softly. “Let’s not rush the time we have.”

 

Notes:

Savvy readers will catch a phrase here and there (“Listening at keyholes…” “Put on a gown, you’ll freeze…” etc) borrowed from Debbie Horsfield’s S1 Poldark scripts. I’m grateful as always for that inspiration.

More soon on this tale, though we are coming in for the close. Thanks again for reading and for your enduring patience these many months/years.

Chapter 87: Black Ice

Ross set his coffee on the dash then immediately thought better of it. He’d more than once absently driven away with a cup precariously balanced only to be reminded of his error as the content spilled all over. 

Today the cup holder was once again filled with junk. Some coins–he’d have to sort them–a few receipts, serviettes from a take away lunch earlier in the week, a broken biro, and at least four pay and display tickets from area carparks. That was all his doing. Usually when Demelza drove his truck, she’d quietly clean out all the rubbish afterwards–one more way he took her for granted.

He jammed the cup in between the mess but before he switched on the engine he paused to think. He knew what he was doing–stalling. As long as he just stood still, the grim future would be held temporarily at bay. He wished he could muster up some holiday cheer but just couldn’t.

He’d just had a brief but dispiriting conversation with his solicitor. Samuel Rosehill wasn’t Ross’s personal solicitor but he’d worked with Tonkin and Carnmore for years so it hadn’t really been Ross’s place to object. Ross was sure the man was competent but he still didn't like what he had just been told.

He’d expected bad news but he hadn’t expected such expensive news.

No matter the route they chose–trial or settlement–Carnmore would have to pay. Ross and Tonkin had thrown around the idea of selling part of the business interest to raise cash but when Rosehill told them what party was the most interested, they vowed to find another way.

“I’d rather live penniless and in my barn before I let George get his hands on Carnmore,” Ross swore. 

But even that might not be possible. If Ross went bankrupt he might lose his land–and his barn. And deliberately selling off some of his land wasn’t an easy option either. It was heavily mortgaged as it was and in truth George would be too eager to snap that up as well.

Ross knew he had to share all this with Demelza. He’d promised not to keep secrets and he knew if he wasn’t transparent with her, she’d be more likely she’d go off on her own again, half cocked. Maybe she’d confront George this time.

The thought of Demelza telling George off, made him smile but only for a moment, then a strange defensiveness pulsed through his veins making things go dark. George and Demelza belonged to two separate worlds and it needed to remain that way. Ross would never let George’s vile cruelty taint her warmth and light.

The law office was located in a part of Truro Ross tried not to frequent, conveniently close to both the Crown Court and the police station. He supposed that made sense for Rosehill’s line of business, but Ross hadn’t expected to also see so many Plumbing and Heating firms in the same area. He must have passed about three–or maybe heating systems were just on his mind so he was more inclined to notice.

In his gut, Ross knew Pete Curnow might not be up to the job of fixing the panel radiator in the bedroom. But he’d already engaged him so it was hard to stop that train once it had left the station. He wasn’t falling prey to the sunk cost fallacy but rather he felt sorry for the man. No matter Ross’s own woes, he suspected Pete had it worse.

In the old days I would have sorted the heater myself, Ross thought. The old days–just a few years before. When he’d only just taken on his father’s farm and couldn't afford to hire any help. Before he got bored with that prospect and became a hops farmer. Then, not content with only the one venture, he’d invested in the brewery.

Maybe the problem is me  he thought. I grow too restless and give up too easily.

“No, Ross, your problem is that you are too stubborn and never do give up, even when you should.” He could hear Demelza’s voice in his head. Why was she the only person who could get through to him?

He took a sip from his coffee. A minute ago it was too hot, now it was too cold. It was proving to be a more frigid week than predicted. Even the air looked thin and brittle today, no December fog to add atmosphere in the days leading up to Christmas. 

If Ross didn’t want to go home, he’d have to do something. He couldn’t sit here in the cold truck but he also had no desire to wander the streets of Truro.

There once was a time when he’d wander over to Verity’s cafe and get something to warm his body and his spirits, but there was no longer anything in town to lure him. His trips there seemed to always be work related now.

Then something did grab his attention. A figure–a woman–in a black parka on the other side of the road. She was walking quickly, but also carefully, watching her feet on the slick pavement. A hood hid her face but for just a second she turned to look over her shoulder and one pink cheek came into view. And then she was gone. It had happened so fast but he still knew he recognised her. It wasn’t just the familiar parka but the very way she moved.

Why didn't Demelza tell me she was going to Truro today? I could have given her a lift.

Ross was on his feet and walking before he’d really thought it all through. 

What would have drawn her to this part of town–if it had even been her?

He looked around then noticed the small lane leading away from the main road. Was that where she’d come from? He couldn’t say––she’d been just a flicker really–still he felt compelled to see what this alleyway held.

A photography studio, a financial planner, yet another plumbing and heating concern, an interior design firm, and a vague storefront that called itself  “The Natural Touch”–whatever the hell that meant. 

Ross had almost walked past the next shop without much notice but a small sign in the window caught his eye.

We buy family and estate jewellery. Best prices. Discreet.

Just what was Demelza up to? 

Amongst all the other Nampara flotsam and jetsam, there was a box of old jewellery left behind by Joshua. Ross had looked through it once or twice and concluded there was nothing worth much. A tangle of broken chains, rings with loose settings, earrings missing their mates–assorted items that held more sentimental value than anything else. Of course Demelza might find such a cache fascinating. 

Days before she’d suggested selling things–Nampara antiques–to raise some extra money. Had she gone ahead and done so without consulting Ross? He didn’t think she’d dare, but had he underestimated how desperate she might feel? Or how scared?

And Joshua’s “treasure” box was in the study, rather well concealed in a drawer in the built-in cabinet on the far wall. Would she really go rifling through those things?

—  

“Demelza” Ross called. “Prudie? Where’s Demelza?”  

How many times had he entered the house with that same question first on his mind. And in how many different moods? Sometimes he needed Demelza’s help, sometimes he needed reassurance of her safe whereabouts, sometimes he just needed her.

This morning it felt like all three at once. 

Most of all he needed her. He knew if he held her, it would only take a moment for her to soothe his agitated state. 

And of course he was curious about where she was and where she’d been.

On the drive back from Truro, Ross fought a valiant battle with his own thoughts and resolved to let things play out with whatever schemes she was hatching, her way, before he interfered. He’d have to trust her. Just the night before he had reflected on now she’d learned to be independent early in her life in order to survive. It wasn't fair to ask her to play by his rules, rules that he changed without warning.

He mustn’t jump to conclusions anyway. There was still a good chance she’d explain it all to him–if he could find her to talk to her.

And today, like so many other times, Ross once again needed Demelza’s help. 

Before he arrived home, Ross had stopped at Pally’s lot in Sawle to look at Christmas trees but thought better of picking one without Demelza. He suspected she’d have some sort of preference–she’d want it to be fatter than tall or it would need to smell a certain way. Something that would matter very much to her that he wouldn't have even noticed. This tree was for her and he wouldn’t ruin it by impatiently choosing the wrong one.

And if this was going to be our last Christmas together… 

Well, that was a bit of an exaggeration. It might be their last one in that house but they’d be together for future ones. Even next year if she was away at uni, surely she’d come back to Cornwall for the holidays. Or maybe he’d follow her wherever she went–what was to hold him? Especially if he had no business or family left to tether him to the north coast.

“Prudie?” he called again and looked at his watch. It was nearly noon.

“I heard you the first time,” she appeared in the doorway, hands on hips, ready to spit bullets. “No need to shout.”

“Did I wake you?” He couldn't help sending the barb.

“None of yer beeswax,” Prudie grumbled. 

For a moment he considered reminding her that it was very much his business as she was his employee, but he thought better of goading her into a row. And it was unlikely she’d explain where she’d been the night before or why she'd been out late so Ross didn’t bother asking.

“Well? Demelza?” He tried again.

“She’s gone to Jinny’s. That’s what her note said. Doin’ Christmas bakin’...not that she’s done any for us yet.”

Now Ross laughed.

“Do you think maybe she’s just a little bit busy? Or that maybe baking is something you might take on?”

“Me? Bake? She’d never allow it!”

“Wait…you said she left a note,” Ross said. “That means you didn't drive her? How did she get to Jinny’s? Her bicycle is outside.” 

“Mebbe she flew. Or hitchhiked. How the hell would I know?”

Ross shook his head. What a load of hypocrisy from this woman! Prudie always proclaimed such worry for Demelza’s safety but only when it suited her. That Demelza could be out walking in the freezing rain didn’t seem to be an issue of any concern this morning.

“I’ll text her to see if she needs a ride home,” he said. Any reassurance he’d hoped to find coming home had vanished. His agitation had only doubled.

“Dontcha have to be at work or somethin’?” Prudie asked.

Ross ignored her and tapped out another text.

Demelza hadn't been responding but if she was up to her elbows in caster sugar then she’d be unlikely to answer straightaway.

“Look, I’m just going to go to Jinny’s and…” he began.

“Can’t you let her have one bloody day without you?” Prudie grunted and turned away. Ross counted in his head–he knew a slammed door would be coming. 

Just like the old days. One, two, three…

It came on cue and Garrick barked but it wasn't clear if he was objecting or agreeing with Prudie’s outburst.

But Prudie was partially correct and Ross knew it. He needed to be conscious of giving Demelza her space, letting her see her mates and have fun on her own. He was trying–he really was–but maybe there were subtle messages of discouragement he was sending without even realising it.

On the other hand, Demelza was so stubborn, and it was conceivable that she'd walk miles in this weather just to save the bus fare.

Ross hadn’t yet taken off his coat nor warmed himself so it was no great struggle to back out to the truck. He’d only check on her and set a time to collect her later. No need to drag her away from whatever seasonal diversions she’d crafted for the day.

That is, if she actually was with Jinny. And if she wasn’t?

—

Ross drove a little faster than usual then regretted it once his bald tires skidded on black ice at one of the sharper turns. He didn’t spin out entirely but it was enough to make him reconsider his actions.

He’d be no better than Prudie if he claimed to be concerned about safety then wrecked his truck or broke his own neck.

The gritters had only been out on the larger roads so some of the side ones were either overly slick or frozen in deep grooves, depending on their elevation and how many heavy farm vehicles drove on them regularly.

While it felt like an eternity, it didn't actually take Ross long to pull up to Katherine Carter’s place. Flashing coloured lights had been hung in the front window and artificial greenery draped the doorframe–an earnest attempt at holiday decoration from a family that didn't have much to celebrate this year.

Katherine opened the door before Ross even knocked. She was dressed in her outdoor things and held her car keys in one gloved hand.

“Oh, Ross, dear, I almost missed you,” she said. “I was just about to run out to the shops.”

“Please don’t let me keep you,” he said, growing more sheepish by the moment. “I only came to ask Demelza a question. She’s not answering her mobile”

“Demelza?” Katherine looked confused. “But, she’s not here.”

Notes:

Ross’s worry about Demelza daring to go “rifling through those things”…I couldn’t help that. Thanks to Debbie Horsfield’s Poldark S1.3 script (and all the other times she has Ross coming through the door calling Demelza’s name.)

Chapter 88: Something About Love

“Fucking hell,” Demelza muttered and reached for the brick wall next to her to stay up right. 

The freezing rain over the past few days had created ice patches on the pavement. Even in the daylight they weren’t easy to spot, probably because December mornings offered so little light. Hurrying and not watching at all where she was going, Demelza had lost her footing and came very close to falling flat on her bum. She’d only just managed to catch herself at the last moment. But the shock of such a sudden twist had wrenched her whole body and though it hurt less than the impact of a proper fall would, she still felt it. She adjusted her shoulder bag and sighed.

This whole day was carefully planned in her head and nothing–not even a tumble on the ice–was going to throw her off course. 

Important errands demanded her attention. She was due at Jinny’s just after lunch so that left the morning to finish her Christmas shopping in Truro. 

She thought she’d need to be clever to slip away unnoticed but Ross had left right after breakfast, assuming she’d take advantage of a day without classes to revise. And Prudie was sound asleep, having gotten in at some ungodly hour from whatever it was she’d been up to the night before. It was likely she’d still be out cold for hours but Demelza didn't want to take the Mondeo without asking, so she’d caught the bus.

Today she avoided the main shopping stress, bustling and decorated for Christmas, and instead used a map on her mobile to find Permewan’s jeweller's shop in a cheerless and seemingly abandoned sidelane. Along the way she’d only made one wrong turn and was very nearly tempted to search out a cafe for some hot chocolate and a pastry, but kept her focus. In the end her timing was spot-on–a woman was just unlocking the door, when Demelza arrived.

“I haven’t set everything back out yet,” the woman explained, pointing to the empty glass display cases. ”But you’re welcome to come in and warm up until then.” 

“Oh, I’m here to have somethin’ engraved. Your website said you offered that service?” Demelza asked. She wondered if she should have phoned ahead. 

“Ah, that’s Joe’s forte. He’s just popped out for a coffee but he’ll be back in a jiffy. I’m Edie by the way. Please have a seat.” The woman pointed to a high backed chair with a plush red seat that was either an antique or meant to look like one. 

She was wearing sheepskin lined mule slippers and not proper shoes, which made Demelza wonder if she lived above the shop. But was she Joe Permewan’s wife or his daughter? Demelza was having a hard time reading her age.

“Christmas gift, then?” Edie asked.

“Yes,” Demelza said, unable to contain her smile.

Demelza was proud of the presents she’d selected for Ross. She’d never had a boyfriend to buy things for before--she and Jim had split before Christmas and none of her other flings lasted long enough to warrant any presents. She hadn’t “gone overboard” as Ross had worried, but she had gotten him more than one gift. But that was understandable–Ross’s birthday came a week after Christmas so she had to get something to mark that occasion as well. 

Her first present has been a lovely ribbed jumper that he could wear both at home and also under a jacket to business meetings. She liked the silky nubby texture of the wool but was most attracted to the colour–it was a deep shade of blue and she liked Ross in blue. 

The other present was a fine leather case. That she’d bought used at her beloved consignment shop. It was in good shape and any signs of age just added to its character. It had a small brass plate on its front that was blank and she’d only just decided to have it engraved with his initials. 

Both gifts had been hidden under her bed the night before while he was with her in her room but she doubted Ross would peek or snoop. Even if he had, there really was no way he could spoil this for her--she’d already had too much fun.

“Oh those are pretty,” Demelza said as Edie walked past her towards the shop window carrying a tray of bracelets. 

“Have a look,” she offered and held them closer for Demelza to inspect. One in particular, stiff white gold just wide enough to have something engraved on it, caught her eye.

“Did Joe do that?” she asked.

“That? No, that’s Latin and our Joe wouldn’t have a clue about such things. He probably thinks it's elvish–you know, like from Lord of the Rings?” she laughed. “Try it on,” Edie urged, no doubt hoping to make a sale or at least conversation.

Demelza took off her mitten and picked up the bracelet, carefully, as though it were made of crystal. She slipped her hand through and held it up to admire. 

Quidquid Amor Jussit, Non Est Contemnere Tutum. 

“I assume that means somethin’ nice,” Demelza laughed. 

“Yes, It's about love,” Edie explained. “I shouldn't admit this, but I've looked it up a hundred times and never quite remember what it translates to, or what it really means. I never was good at languages at school. But no matter–it’s a gift from one lover to another and that’s universal, isn’t it? Looks good on you, dear.”

“I’m not really a bracelet kind of person,” Demelza smiled and slid it off as gingerly as she’d put it on. She couldn’t imagine wearing such a bangle while scrubbing the dishes or tending to the goats. Or going to school.

“You say that now, but if the right man gave that to you?”

Demelza laughed again. 

“I somehow doubt he ever shall,” she said and handed it back over to Edie who proceeded to hang it and some other jewellery on a small Christmas tree in the window.

“This was my idea,” Edie explained, draping a string of pearls through the branches. “I like to mark the seasons somehow.”

Once decorated, it was a lovely little display, but it occurred to Demelza that the act of setting it up every morning and then taking it down every evening must get old fast.

Then something else caught her eye and she had an idea.

“Can I see that piece you’re holding?” Demelza asked. 

Sometimes good can come of impulse, she thought.

Notes:

Readers will recognize the inscription on the bracelet as the epitaph Winston Graham gave to Grace Poldark’s headstone. Quidquid Amor Jussit, Non Est Contemnere Tutum translates to “Whatsoever Love hath ordained it is not fit to despise”.

Also “I must doubt he ever shall” is a play on that great line from Debbie Horsfield’s S1.4 scripts.

Finally some readers who have read my other fics (especially ones set at Christmas) will see yet another vintage jewellery shop scenario. Sorry/not sorry.

Chapter 89: Gifts of Love

“Oh you made it!” Jinny first laughed then turned fretful as she ushered Demelza through the door. “But you’re soaked through. Let me take your things. Geez girl, I can see your bra through your top, it’s that wet. Better change out of it–I’ll get something warm for you to put on.”

“Really, I’m fine….well, okay.'' Demelza was going to resist, then remembered how important it was to let others feel helpful. That was a life lesson she’d only recently learned herself. “That rain is cold!” she said and took off her boots.

She’d only observed her for a moment, but Demelza noted that Jinny seemed just a bit more upbeat then the last time she’d seen her. Perhaps being back at her parents’ home, even just for the day, had something to do with it.

“Nice bra, by the way.” Jinny called to her. “But somehow I doubt yer wearin’ that for me.”

“Where’s your sister?” Demelza asked, trying to take the tease with poise. She knew her cheeks were blushing and was glad Jinny had gone upstairs before she could see them. 

Demelza hung her parka from the post of the stair bannister and quickly looked around. 

The Martin house was smaller than the Carters’ in terms of actual square feet but someone had recently seen to repairs and carpentry details that made it seem just a bit more affluent.

That’s what it means to have a father about, Demelza mused then laughed to herself and amended the thought. A competent father.

“Bethany‘s still at school. My mum went to collect her and she’ll bring Jim’s sisters round as well. Benjy’s sleepin’ so I’ve had a little time all to myself,” Jinny smiled then handed over a hoodie emblazoned with the green and gold logo of the Bolingey Barbarians. 

“Well I hate to interrupt your personal time,” Demelza said, pulling off her own wet top and slipping on the well-worn hoodie that she suspected had belonged to Jinny’s dad. “Where is Benjy? Should we be whisperin’?”

“He’s out cold in his baby seat in the kitchen,” Jinny said. “But my mum always says if you’re  too quiet around a sleepin’ baby they learn to only sleep in total silence. Better to let them get used to noise and bustle.”

“And does that work?” Demelza asked, following Jinny into the brightly lit kitchen. 

Or does it just have to, in a big family? she thought.

“Okay, I think we have everythin’ you asked for,” Jinny said. “But I couldn't find mace in the cupboard and forgot to tell my mum to pick some up.”

“No worries. We can use somethin’ else in the pies–maybe nutmeg? I think I read that,” Demelza said. 

Sure enough, asleep in a little seat on the floor next to the table was Jinny’s baby. He had one tiny fist shoved in his mouth, the other was being licked by an orange striped cat.

“This swing is ancient, I think it was my sister’s when she was little so the action doesn’t last too long,” Jinny said and gave the handle on the side a little crank. The thing began to rock steadily and Benjy let out a soft sigh in his sleep. “Still he loves it better than the flash new one I have at Katherine’s. That one has lights and plays music so it keeps him up and distracted.”

Demelza felt herself warming at once, partially because the Martin kitchen was well heated but also because the whole place was extra cosy. She thought for a moment about what it meant to have things passed down in a family–advice, baby gear, old hoodies.

“Oh, here, Jinny. I saw this and thought of you,” Demelza said and handed over the little box she’d been concealing in her hand. “I probably should have had it wrapped it up, or done it myself, but I just couldn’t wait.”

Jinny opened the hinged lid then stared, dumbfounded.

“Dem, this is so pretty,” Jinny finally said and lifted out a heart-shaped silver locket. “Thank you–but why think of me?”

“Really, Jinny?” Demelza laughed then saw Jinny had been serious. “Well, I imagine since this is Benjy’s first Christmas, he’ll get loads of presents and attention, and I didn’t want you to feel neglected.”

Since you don’t have a partner to shower you with affection. Since this is ostensibly your first adult Christmas and you are no longer a child in your parents’ home. Since you need a friend more than ever.

“You think I’m goin’ to be jealous of my own baby?” Jinny laughed.

"No, of course not,” Demelza said. “But you already do everythin’ for your family and also for Jim’s, I just wanted you to have somethin’ for yourself.”

“Most days it feels like they do everythin’ for me,'' Jinny said. “But really, it’s too lovely,,” she whispered, then snapped the case shut quickly as if it were too fine for her.

“See? You can put a little photo in there or even two–one on each side,” Demelza said gently and opened it again for her. “Or a lock of Benjy’s hair. He’s already got so much of it.”

“He was born that way,” Jinny laughed. “My mum says she'd never seen so much hair on a newborn. She says it’s good luck.”

“I think it’s gorgeous. So dark and silky,” Demelza said and looked at the sleeping baby again.  He was very much darker than the blonde Carters. Jinny’s own hair was a mousy light brown and her sister and her dad were proper gingers. Demelza didn't recall Jim’s hair being so dark but perhaps Benjy’s hair came from another family branch altogether.

“Maybe you’re right. I am jealous of my baby–he’s not even four months and he’s got such curls. I think I’ll cry when he gets his first haircut. But Katherine says it’s bad luck to cut a baby’s hair before he’s one year old, so I’ve some time.”

“I’ve never heard that before,” Demelza said. “Is that Cornish?”

Prudie was always telling her Cornish tales–what was lucky or unlucky. 

“Ya know, girl, now that you’ve got that hair colour, you won't be able to make good butter.” Ever since Demelza had made her hair a more pronounced red, that lament had become Prudie’s favourite.

“Good thing, we’ve Tesco then,” Demelza would always quip back. She wondered if Prudie had ever even seen a butter churn in her life.

There was also Sneeze on Sunday morning fasting, Enjoy your true love for everlasting. That one had more to it but Prudie never quite remembered what happened on all the other days of the week, except she swore they all rhymed with sorrow.

“Here, let me put it on you,” Demelza said to Jinny, who obediently lifted up her own straight hair. Demelza fastened the locket’s clasp behind her neck then turned her around.

This too is a lover’s gift. And it should be Jim giving it, not me, Demelza thought. But maybe a friend is the next best thing.

“Thank you, Demelza,” Jinny said, holding the little silver heart between her fingers. “But I’ve nothin’ for you…”

“Don’t be daft. You’re given’ me a day away from studyin’ so I’m grateful for that,” Demelza brushed the idea away. “So have you gotten some sweet little presents for Benjy?”

“Both my mum and Katherine said he won't remember this Christmas at all so better save all the fun til next. So it's mostly clothes and a few stuffed toys. And I know they're right but I was thinkin’ ‘What would Jim do?”

“Oh?” Demelza asked.

“He’d probably go out and spoil him–spendin’ money we didn’t even have–and buy him somethin’ stupid and impractical like one of those electric ride-on cars. Not thinking how inappropriate that would be for an infant.”

“I could see Jim doin’ that,” Demelza laughed. “Probably a Mercedes, no doubt!”

“I almost wanted to do just that–for Jim, you know?” Jinny said. “‘Course I didn’t have the money in the end,” she sighed. “Is it wrong? That I speak of Jim that way?”

“No, it's not wrong. Because you want to remember him as he really was, because you loved him for who he really was,” Demelza said.

“Yes, to make him a saint wouldn't be rememberin’ him at all…” Jinny snorted.

“And how are you doin’?” Demelza asked softly, putting her hand on Jinny’s.

Jinny looked around the room as if to check no one else was truly around, then gave an even longer sigh. For a moment it sounded like a prayer, a well-practised ritual. Perhaps it was all that remained after the tears had dried up.

“Some days I wake up and for just a moment, I’ve forgotten,” she started. “It's like it never happened at all. And I breathe for what feels like the first time after havin’ been underwater. Then I remember Jim is dead and I’m a single mum, and then I remember all the things I didn't manage to do the day before because I was so tired or was feelin’ sorry for myself, and then I’m drownin all over again.”

“No, Jinny! You’re not feelin’ sorry for yourself,'' Demelza said. “You’re grievin’--and you have to do it. It’s in you and it’s gotta come out.”

“You make it sound like a fart,” Jinny laughed.

“Well…” Demelza cocked her head and smiled, glad that Jinny was able to make a joke.

“Sorry that’s where my mind went,” Jinny apologised. “It's no wonder–I been spendin’ all my wakin’ hours clearing Benjy’s mucky bum and hopin’ to god he burps a big one after a feedin’ without spittin’ up all over my top. But I’m not complainin’...”

“I know you’re not.”

“Katherine says we’ll always be grievin’, one way or another,” Jinny said. “You think that’s true?”

“Perhaps,” Demelza replied but then wondered if she had any business wading in those waters. “But in different ways?”

“Yes, it's different for a mum,” Jinny said. “I see that already and now that I’m one, well I can sorta understand. But it will be different for Benjy? What’s it like losin’ a parent when you’re so little? Are you grievin’ still for your mum?”

“Oh no,” Demelza said quickly. “I mean…I was pretty young and I don’t actually have any memories of her.”

“None? At all?” Jinny asked. “Dem, that’s really sad.”

“Is it?” In truth Demelza thought it the opposite. She couldn’t miss what she didn’t know. Her brother Sam claimed to have memories, but Demelza always suspected that was more of a mental construction, pieced together after looking at photos and wishing he’d known her better, or at all.

And if Demelza truly knew more, most likely there would be more pain to face. Having been married to Tom Carne, surely her mum would have been caught up in troubles and sorrows of her own. No, it was better that Demelza just didn’t know. It was an attitude she’d adopted as a young child–perhaps her oldest defence–and it would not be lightly shed in search of sentimentality.

“It’s funny, now that I look back, I can see Jim was still grievin’ the loss of his dad. He spoke of him a lot,” Jinny said.

“Oh yeah…” Demelza nodded but she couldn't recall Jim ever opening up about his family with her. She felt bad that she hadn't been a better listener but supposed it was good that he’d found someone to confide in. “Did they get on? Jim and his dad?” she asked. Demelza had never met the man; Mr. Carter died the year before she came to Nampara.

“I think they did, from what Jim said,” Jinny replied. “I mean as well as any father and son. They rowed a lot but about the usual things–he thought Jim was lazy and careless…”

Which he was.

“Maybe if he knew he was dyin’, he just wanted Jim to be ready to take care of things after he was gone?” Demelza suggested.

“I never thought of that,” Jinny said. “Do you think all fathers and sons row?”

“I’m not the one to ask,” Demelza snorted, thinking of the nightly brawls between her brothers and her father. “I’m sure there are some that get on well enough.” 

She imagined Dwight Enys probably had a good relationship with his own father. Maybe they went fishing or camping together or read the same books then talked about them at length. Even if they didn't agree on something they wouldn’t shout. Dwight’s gentle kindness had to come from somewhere.

“What about Ross and his dad?” Jinny asked.

“That was a complex relationship from what I’ve been told!” Demelza held back another laugh. “A lot of rough–especially after Ross’s mum died– but there must have also been some smooth. Ross loved him, I know, but Joshua wasn’t an easy man.”

“Yes, so I heard,” Jinny said then caught herself. “I didn’t mean…”

“It’s okay,” Demelza put her hand on Jinny’s again. “I’ve also heard all the rumours about him…”

“Do you think they’re true? That he liked ladies that much?”

“I can’t say,” Demelza said. “Maybe it was a way of dealin’ with his own grief. But really, I can’t say.”

“Funny how Ross is so different. He’s so true and…well-behaved.”

“Well behaved?” Demelza laughed. “But yes, he is true.”

“Do you think Joshua ever loved again? After Grace died?”

Demelza shrugged her shoulders. Again she couldn't say and didn't think it was her place to speculate. But it was a fair question–one she might put to Ross later.

“Do you think…I’ll ever love again?” Jinny looked up with wide eyes.

“Oh, I do hope so!” Demelza cried. “I do. Keep yourself open to the idea and when the time is right…”

“How will I know the time is right?”

“I don’t know that, Jinny. I wish I could say. Maybe just trust yourself to know it.”

“Trust myself?” Jinny dismissed the idea with a scoff. “All I do is make one colossal fuck up after another. I’m not like you, Demelza. I could trust my judgments if I had your wisdom.”

“Oh Jinny! Don’t say that,” Demelza cried. “And I think we’re all supposed to make mistakes. Isn’t that what you’ll tell Benjy the first time he breaks a cup or takes a crayon to the wall? Perhaps be just as kind to yourself?”

“Thanks, Demelza. I’ll try to remember that,” Jinny said. 

She opened her mouth to say more but just then the front door burst open. Mrs. Martin and three preteen girls filled the house with their winter coats, loud voices, and bags of shopping.

“Looks like it’s biscuit making time,” Demelza said. “Let’s get goin’!”

Notes:

If you want to know more about Cornish legends, superstitions, and “old wives’” tales, check out this source:

https://www.cornwalls.co.uk/myths-legends/myths-legends.htm

I was looking for the source of the “rough and the smooth” quote, thinking it came from one of Winston Graham’s later novels, but was surprised to also find it in Ross Poldark: A Novel of Cornwall.

In that case it was after Ross and Demelza’s initial blue dress encounter, but before she goes to his room. As Ross’s mind is racing, he recalls something said by one of the men from Jim’s trial, (who’d been looking down his nose at Ross).

“Upsetting himself about some farm labourer with a bad cough. Rather unbalanced, one supposes. After all, one has to accept the rough with the smooth.”.

But this is the passage I was looking for--Demelza ruminating on the years she’s spent with Ross in The Miller’s Dance:

 

“I wish it was that again. I'd wish for all my life over again from the moment you brought me home here as a dirty urchin!'

 

'Like to be swilled under the pump?'

 

'That water was cold. I mind it was cold.'

 

'Well, you'd have to take the rough with the smooth.'

 

'Yes, yes. And find Jud scratching his bald head and predicting doom. And Prudie and her feet. And my father coming to take me home... But there was lots of smooth too, wasn't there. You must admit there was lots of smooth, Ross.'l.

Chapter 90: The Gift of Time

“Ross? You look like you’ve seen a ghost–or maybe you got a lump of coal in your Christmas stockin’?” Mrs. Carter laughed then cocked her head curiously.

“No, erm…Demelza told Prudie she was seeing Jinny, but Prudie must have gotten the times mixed up,” Ross said quickly, trying to cover. He had enough pride not to air any dirty laundry outside his own house. It wasn’t dirty exactly but he still felt protective enough that he felt no need to expose Demelza’s secrets–or lies–if that’s what they were.

“I’ll be going then,” he turned to go back to his truck.

“No, you got it right. They’re doin’ all sorts of holiday bakin’ today,” Katherine laughed then put a gentle hand on Ross’s shoulder before he walked away. “But they’re over at Jinny’s mum’s. My girls are there too. Or they will be soon,” she said, looking at her watch.

“At the Martins’?” Ross asked, aware that a flood of relief was very visible on his face.

“That was Demelza’s doin’. She thought gettin’ out of the house would be good for Jinny and that maybe I’d like some time for my own errands as well. And she was right–I haven't had much of a chance to finish my Christmas shoppin’...”

“And how is your hip?” Ross remembered to ask.

“It isn't my hip that’s keepin’ me home but havin’ a baby in the house again,” she said with a sigh and a smile. “We love our Benjy to bits but he takes all our time. Do you want to come in for a cup of tea, Ross? You look cold.”

“No, I don’t want to keep you. You’re working with borrowed time and I’ve already taken so much up.”

“Nonsense!” she laughed again. “Today I have loads of time. Jinny and the baby are stayin’ with her family overnight and Mrs. Martin is bringin’ my girls home later–and droppin’ Demelza at Nampara as well by the way, in case you were worried,” she explained.

Ross was struck by the idea that some people, especially those taking care of family members, had to fight to find moments just for themselves. He’d been overindulgent all these years keeping to himself and not realising what a luxury it could be.

“The best part of it all,” Katherine went on, “is that my girls might actually learn some new skills from Demelza and Mrs. Martin. I’m a shit baker and always have been.”

“I doubt that’s the case…”

“Oh no,” she laughed. “It’s true and my whole family says so. But I made my peace with it long ago. Your mum taught me that. She said bein’ a mum–or even an adult–is hard enough and you can’t be perfect on all scores. Work on what’s important or what you want to get better at and forget the rest. And then let someone else shine at that. That’s why I always buy my Christmas bakin’ at the shops,” she winked.

“My mother said that?” Ross asked. It occurred to him that this woman knew Grace far better than Ross ever had. For a moment it made him sad but then he thought it through.  

There was definitely a side of Jim that he’d known better than Katherine had.

We all live on in unexpected places after we’re gone.

“Yes, well, Grace could bake well enough but her weakness was she couldn't sew. I mean not at all. Not even a button. But she didn’t mind–she thought stayin’ inside to do mendin’ a punishment.”

“She preferred being outdoors, in her garden?” Ross asked.

“Yes, that’s right,” Katherine smiled. ”That reminds me. Wait–I have somethin’ for you and Demelza.”

She disappeared into the house and emerged with her hands full.  

“I saw this and thought of…well I thought of Demelza but it's for you both.”

Paperwhites, the bulbs just opening, had been planted inside a box meant to look like an old crate. Across the wooden planks in a cheerful script was written: Bloom where you’re planted.

“She’ll love this,” Ross said softly.

“Now you see why I thought of her?”

“Thank you,” Ross said. “And please, enjoy your day alone.”

“Oh I will! Goodbye, Ross and Merry Christmas if I don't see you before next week.”

 

Ross put the box with the blooms on the passenger seat, then worried they’d fall, transferred them to the floor. He had no idea if paperwhites were hardy or delicate but decided not to take any chances. He’d long ago learned that a thing could be both.

At once the intoxicating scent filled the truck. He took several deep breaths and sighed.

Again he paused before he switched on the engine. 

His dilemma was sorted with Demelza, at least partially–she hadn't lied about this afternoon but he still didn't know why she was in Truro that morning. Still, he felt less agitated by it all. She had a right to some time alone, no questions asked.

And now he had another problem. Looking at this simple box of flowers made him feel ashamed. Simple, personal, and spot on–Mrs. Carter had done a better job of picking out a gift for Demelza than he had. 

Ross had bought Demelza a new mobile–in the rose gold finish he knew she liked. He was trying to be practical–she needed it–but also might have been trying to prove something.

In terms of pounds spent, it was a lavish gift. Wouldn't that prove that he wasn’t broke, that he could provide her with expensive things? That he wasn’t a failure?

But he knew now that in the end, it was cold and impersonal. And maybe more about him.

He looked at his watch. There was still plenty of time to do some shopping of his own. He was about to switch on the ignition when his mobile rang.

“Poldark!” Tonkin laughed his jolliest laugh. “I have news–you’ll never believe.. I can’t believe it myself!”

“What is it?” Ross should have been more attuned to Tonkin’s mirthful tone but still feeling as though he was the last to know anything that day, he came across as defensively sharp.

“No, come meet me at The Red Lion. I’ll explain it all in person,” Tonkin replied. “But I’ll tell you this…it’s good news.”

—

Demelza took off her beanie and looked in the hallway mirror. She had flour in her hair but a smile on her face. It had been a pleasant afternoon baking with Jinny and the three little sisters, Jinny’s one and Jim’s two. And now Demelza had dozens of biscuits and a few cakes and pies to share with Ross and Prudie. She thought she might hang some of the gingerbread from their tree once they got one. Maybe she’d also try to make some origami ornaments as well. 

As she moved further into the quiet house, she was struck by the shadow that laid over it. No amount of paper bunting or spiced cake could make Ross’s legal–and financial–troubles disappear. But that wouldn't stop her from trying to bring some comfort nonetheless. She just hoped it wasn’t an uphill battle.

Caroline’s plans gave her some cause for hope but she couldn't be sure how soon those consequences might be felt–or if Caroline would really follow through.

“Garrick?” Demelza called. He hadn’t met her at the door. “You better not be wanderin’ around in this rain,” she sighed. The idea of going out to look for him was not one she relished.

Then she heard it. Shuffling, low voices, and metal clanging on metal coming from upstairs.

For just a second she was worried–until she heard the cursing.

“Prudie?” she called. “Everythin’ alright?”

“Damn, the girl’s home,” Prudie grumbled, then she shouted down to Demelza. “Oh c’mon then! Come up and see.”

—--

“Who’s this then?” Demelza entered the bedroom and glanced around. An older man was on the floor, tinkering with the heater. A work lamp was clamped to the headboard and shone on his tools spread out before him. 

Garrick sat attentively on his haunches just inside the bedroom door. He looked to this stranger and then to Demelza. His best guarding tendencies had kicked in and he wasn’t letting the man out of his sight.

“I thought Pete Curnow couldn't come until Monday?” she asked.

“I’m Jud, Prudie’s erm...her old man.” He looked up at her with a rough and ruddy face but remained on his hands and knees.

“Ex old man, Prudie added. She too was watching his every move.

“What the hell is he doin’ here?!” Demelza asked Prudie. 

In her head it sounded like a ferocious roar--she might have been disappointed to learn that the words had been delivered steady and measured. But she’d still achieved the threat she intended. She took a step closer and for a moment, seriously considered jumping on his back and pummeling him with her fists. 

Instead she looked to Prudie who gave her a silent nod. For whatever reason, she was vouching for the man.

“Fixin’ yer panel heater, it look like, don’t it?” Jud grumbled.

“Does Ross know you’re here?” Demelza asked now, her foot tapping in time with Prudie’s.

“No, Mister Ross don’t but erm…well you do so that’s well…beggin’ yer pardon and hopin’ yer…” he stammered.

Was he really being deferential to her? She almost laughed at his sloppy attempt at grovelling.

“You should know, Jud is… well, he’s changed his statement.,” Prudie explained. “‘Bout what he saw.”

“That night at the Carnmore yard…” he added eagerly.

“I thought it had been an afternoon?” Demelza peered at him, her mouth twisted.

“Yes, well. My eyesight isn’t always what it should be. Doctor says I have mackerel degeneration. So I reckon I can get things wrong.”

“I’m sure you do.” Demelza tried not to laugh.

“But now he’s gonna make it right, isn’t he?” Prudie said firmly and gave him a small kick in the rump. “Besides, sun never shines on a perjurer.”

Demelza had never heard that one before. Then again, until recently she and Prudie hadn’t spoken of legal matters much.

“Yes…yes, I aim to…and no, no it don’t,” Jud said.

Demelza stared hard at the man as he turned back and resumed his work on the panel.

She had met Jud before. Years ago, during her first summer at Nampara. She was tramping around the yard in oversized boots and whatever mismatched work attire she’d cobbled together--she’d probably been wearing one of Joshua’s old shirts and no doubt it would have gone down past her knees. Jud had come around looking for Prudie and at once Demelza had sniffed out he was not to be trusted.

“Who you then? Mister Ross know you’re here?” she’d asked him.

“Mister Ross?” Jud had mocked the way she said the name which did not help his cause in her eyes. “No, he don’t but Miss Prudie do. Little chit of a girl…”

Demelza had no idea what that meant but took it in stride--she’d been called worse and assumed it was just another insult.

“That’s Miss Demelza Carne to you,” she’d somehow had the confidence to say. “Take a seat and I’ll find Prudie directly,” she’d ordered. In the end she didn't need to do any searching. Prudie came out on her own, and based on the shouting that followed, hadn't been pleased to see Jud there at all. 

But Jud never came around again, not that Demelza knew of anyway. Nor did Prudie ever speak of him.

Demelza had largely forgotten that encounter with Jud because it was the same day the old barn cat, Tabitha, allowed herself to not only be pet by Demelza, but fully cuddled. And that resulted in Demelza sitting in the shady barn for close to an hour with a curled up cat in her lap, neglecting all her other duties. It had been an afternoon of triumph--and there was no space for Jud Paynter in her newly acquired happiness. Nor in her memory, as it turned out.

All these figures played a part in my life, Demelza thought now. Poor old Tabitha.  

It was the day that old cat was killed that Demelza had allowed Jim to hold her for the first time. And Jim? What part did he play besides being her first proper boyfriend? Now she dared to wonder. If Jim hadn't been arrested, would she and Ross ever have come together as they did? Well maybe not that way under those circumstances but eventually it would have happened. Ross had said as much the other day.

And now Jud, showing up out of nowhere to make things right after fucking them up so massively. She could only hope his presence wasn't going to upset Prudie. She didn't deserve that. 

Demelza also hoped Ross wouldn’t walk in on this. She might have been able to control her angry impulses but she couldn't say the same for Ross. And after all he’d been through, the last thing he needed was a violent confrontation.

“So you do know what you’re doin’?” Demelza asked Jud now.

“Oughtta. I'm the one who installed these heaters in the first place, all them years ago.”

“That explains a lot,” Demelza said and lifted an eyebrow. Prudie laughed.

“Okay, you can stay,” Demelza said. “But I suspect you don't have much time until Ross comes home. And I think it would be best if you were gone before that, whether you’re done or not. And don't make a mess of things and don't touch the bedclothes. I’ll get you somethin’ to wipe up any leaks or grease or whatever. Prudie, why don't you stay here and keep an eye on Jud? I’ll handle dinner…”

“It don’t feel right you doin’ everythin’ yerself. But, if you insist.” Prudie’s resistance lasted about ten seconds and she immediately lowered herself into the chair in the corner so she could watch Jud work.  

Demelza laughed. After a day of being out and about, she liked the idea of being alone in the Nampara kitchen. And even better, she liked knowing that she and Ross could return to their bed tonight, and maybe even find some peace there.

Notes:

Jud's groveling very much borrowed from Debbie Horsfield's S2 scripts.

“The sun doesn’t shine shine on a perjurer” is again from this source:

https://www.cornwalls.co.uk/myths-legends/myths-legends.htm

Chapter 91: Playground Rules

“Ross!” Tonkin called almost as soon as Ross had entered the noisy pub. “Over here! I have a table for us.”

“And a round ready?” Ross looked at the two pints sitting in front of Tonkin. “I suppose it’s mid afternoon…”

“Time hardly matters today. We are celebrating!” Tonkin laughed. “To freedom!” He held up his pint and signalled to Ross to do the same.

“Freedom?”

“Rosehill just called. The suit–the whole lawsuit–has been dropped. Warleggan’s attorneys made it official an hour ago.” 

“What?” Ross cried, burying his head in his hands. He could feel his face muscles twitching–his mind wasn’t quite accepting the news yet but his body was all too ready for relief.  “Why? How?”

“No details yet. Just a ‘change of heart’ I’m told,” Tonkin said. “But I’ll take it as is!”

“I can’t believe…there must be something. New evidence? New witnesses?” Ross sputtered.

“No doubt,” Tonkin agreed. “Otherwise George would never concede. I’m sure Rosehill will tell us all after he’s read the briefs in their entirety.”

“I don’t know what to say…”

“If you’re disappointed, I suppose we could counter sue for wasting our time,” Tonkin teased. “Those for me? You shouldn’t have.” Tonkin pointed to the box of paperwhites Ross had set on the table. Ross hadn’t wanted to leave them in the cold truck. 

“They’re for Demelza,” Ross said and smiled for what felt like the first time that day. And as much as he knew Demelza would adore Mrs. Carter’s gift, he knew she’d appreciate this news even more.

“Smart man,” Tonkin said. “No matter the problem, flowers always help.”

“They’re not from me…” It wasn’t worth explaining. “Tonkin, I thought you didn’t like the Red Lion?” Ross asked.

“Ha, ha! Yes, the Pig and Whistle is my favourite, but just like our fickle friend George Warleggan, I too can have a change of heart,” he said cryptically. “Come on, Poldark, don’t tell me you can’t tell what it is you're drinking?”

“Carnmore?” Ross laughed and looked into his glass.

“Tis the Beast!” Tonkin roared. “They just started serving it on draught. Might even be from their first barrel.”

“Such luck we’re having. And all on the same day!” Ross drank the rest of his pint in one quick gulp. “Then we’d better convince them the barrel will move quickly,” he laughed. 

“Let me get us another round!” Tonkin said. “You can get the next.”

After Tonkin got up, Ross pulled out his mobile to text Demelza.

Brilliant news! Suit dropped. Then he quickly deleted it. It was hardly enough–she’d have so many questions, as he did. No, this was best said in person. Besides, he'd want to see her face when he told her. He’d have one more drink with Tonkin then go back home. After all, besides himself and Tonkin, this change of fortune impacted Demelza next. It made sense to want to celebrate with her.

“Next year we’re doing some seasonals,” Tonkin said as he slid back into his seat several minutes later.

“Ugh, I hate those,” Ross groaned. “You can’t taste the hops.”

“Yes, but people–as in paying customers–like them a lot,” Tonkin laughed. “What do you think of this one?” he asked.

“Should I be expecting cinnamon or gingerbread?” Ross took a cautious sip and was relieved to find it a hazy IPA. “This isn’t one of ours, is it?” 

“No, it’s a little upstart just north of here. They’re called Mousehole. They’ve only the one ale now but are quite promising. I was thinking we might pay them a visit sometime in the new year,” Tonkin said. “Maybe make some friends.”

“And perhaps share some costs?” Ross smiled.

“Well, if that happens, all the better.”

“I do like this,” Ross said. “What’s it called?”

“Don’t laugh: Foggy Went A Courtin'...” 

“Good god, no. Is that where the industry is headed?” Ross shook his head. “Is that what we’re up against?”

“Okay Poldark, enough with the gloom. I thought we were celebrating?” Tonkin said. “Your turn to choose because the next round’s on you. Don’t worry about driving. I’ll ring my wife.”

“She won’t mind playing taxi to two drunkards?” Ross asked.

“Not today. Not with our news,” Tonkins said. “Go on then…”

“I’ve barely finished this one,” Ross laughed but rose to his feet. He was glad to find he was still steady.

“And don’t worry, I’ll watch your flowers, mate!” Tonkin called after him.

“Don’t even think about giving them to your wife,” Ross laughed.

—-

It was late afternoon, well past lunch, but the pub remained steadily crowded.  Ross had to wait a few minutes before the barman took his order. But as he stood by the bar he found himself laughing aloud. 

It was all simply extraordinary. 

He once again pulled out his mobile to text Demelza and once again decided against it. If he told her where he was she might worry or feel compelled to come pick him up herself.

She’ll never believe this luck, he chuckled.

“Oh, Ross? Of course you’re here,” a familiar but most unwelcome voice said. 

What was I saying about good luck?

Ross turned but only his head. His hands remained planted firmly on the brass rail of the bar.

“Is that a problem, George?” he replied.

“Spare me the gloating, Ross.”

“I'm not here to gloat, George. In fact I’m not here to talk to you at all.” Ross shook his head. He knew he should not have been surprised at the man’s capacity for antagonism. No matter the issue, George just could never let things lie.

Then again, Ross was laughing aloud at his good fortune–and by extension was laughing at George.

“That’s right, you have friends everywhere, Ross, don't you?” George spat.

Now it occurred to Ross that maybe George was drunk. That was rare–he seemed to always maintain his facade of control. Unless it was anger that was causing the man to slur his words.

“But maybe someday you‘ll find you mean nothing to them–that you've really nothing to offer them at all,” George went on. “And that the Poldark name means nothing!”

“Until that day,” Ross tried not to laugh.

“You are just as arrogant as your uncle. And as naive…”

“My uncle?” Ross knew better than to engage and up to now had stayed cool. Still he was curious. “I thought you and Charles were thick as thieves?” he asked.

“Charles? Hardly. His wife remains a friend but not that old man,” George sputtered. “Well, go on, leave, I was here first.”

“You were here first?” Ross repeated.

“Yes, go Ross. There’s nothing for you here. Leave!” George said again.

“Sure, George, I’ll just go back to my table and to my business partner, and we can ignore each other for another few years.” Now Ross couldn't help but laugh–George was evoking playground rules. 

Ross happily accepted the two pint glasses the barkeep handed over. He took a quick sip of one of them, then turned to walk away.

“I mean go home,” George’s voice was strange, like a scared and feral animal. “Go home to your ridiculous hops venture and to your run-down house and to that skinny little slut you've kept around all these years since no one else will have you…”

“My…What did you…”

“Yes Ross, I’m talking about your girlfriend or your goatherd, whichever you prefer. You do pay her, don't you, Ross? Tell me, does it get you off more when she’s wearing her school uniform or when she’s mucking out your barn?”

All Ross’s resolve, all his control was draining away, like water running through his fingers. His ears rung in a curious pitch. The room seemed to grow silent. George’s words were the last thing he heard.

Then it all went dark.

 

Notes:

I needed a name for the Mousehole ale and suspected I might find an online beer name generator. Turns out I was right. Check it out in case you too ever find yourself wondering what to name a fictional Hazy IPA:

https://beerandbrewing.com/tools/beer-name-generator/#

Chapter 92: The Sting of Reason, The Warmth of a Kiss

“Sit still,” Demelza ordered and put an ice pack to Ross’s eye. He winced from the cold but knew better than to argue. 

He had no leg to stand on.

Demelza had been eerily calm this whole time, from the moment Ross showed up on their doorstep, his nose bloodied, his shirt torn, his right eye swollen. Now she still appeared calm, but moved about the bedroom with an urgency of mission.

Her light fingers unbuttoned his shirt and examined his bruised side. Even though her brow furrowed and her lips were pulled tight, her face was inscrutable. She was standing next to him, tending to his needs, yet she was far away.

This was not the way he’d hoped to share his good news with her. In fact it had barely registered on her face when he explained the suit had been dropped. It was almost as though she’d expected it. And she hadn’t shown any acknowledgment at all of Mrs. Carter’s flowers either.

Then again he’d provided a sizable distraction from such gifts.

“I’m fine,” Ross mumbled but gasped when touched.

“Is that so? You don’t look fine and you certainly don’t sound fine,” she huffed. Was that impatience and anger?

“It’s quite warm in here,” Ross said. “Are you going to tell me that story?”

“No,” she said simply. “That will keep for another day. Do you think you should see a doctor?” she asked. Now her tone seemed to betray worry.

“No!”

“Ross, what if your ribs are broken?” She took the ice pack from his eye and gently put it to his ribs.

“They’re not broken,” he managed to hiss between throbs of pain.

“And how would you know that?” she laughed. He was glad to see the change in her expression, even if it meant she thought him a complete idiot.

“I’ve broken a rib before,” he explained. “This doesn’t feel like that.”

He took a deep breath to show her, then covered her hand with his, hoping he could reach her. It seemed to work, for when she next spoke, she couldn’t disguise the tenderness in her voice.

“Oh? In the army?” she asked cautiously. It was an unspoken agreement of theirs. He never talked about his experience in Cyprus just like she never talked about her childhood.

“No, I fell off a horse when I was sixteen.” It was a painful memory and thinking about it wasn’t helping him feel better now.

“Were you pissed or just showin’ off?”

“Both, as I recall.” He gave a weak smile, fairly certain a laugh would hurt too much.

”Seriously, Ross, haven’t you had enough of George’s lawsuits?” she asked. “Do you think he’ll file a complaint?” 

Ross took the ice from her and moved it back to his eye, then considered putting it to his puffy lip. He hadn’t looked in the mirror but expected he was a ghastly sight. He still held his right hand aloft, as if the scraped knuckles were his biggest injury.

Taking his cue, she took his hand in hers to examine it. When she dabbed the split skin with cotton wool soaked in surgical spirit, it stung horribly. Surely she knew that it would. Could it be that she enjoyed watching him flinch? She was rapidly cycling between moods again.

“I don’t know,” Ross finally replied. “But I doubt it. He might find it humiliating to admit he was…”

“Beat up? That is, can I assume it wasn’t Warleggan that threw the first punch?”

“You can--and you’d be correct.”

“And you won’t tell me what George said that made you so enraged?” She held his chin and looked into his eyes for one agonising moment, then perhaps sensing his discomfort, released him.

“No, no I won’t.” Ross was firm on that score. It was better she never know. George’s insult would be something she couldn't unhear or easily forget.

“You are so fuckin’ stubborn,” she mumbled and stepped back to give him another head to toe appraisal.

Trickles of blood from his nose had stained the front of her hoodie. He hated seeing that on her, hated himself for bringing that into their home.

“Since when are you a rugby fan?” he tried to tease.

“Since when do you come home lookin’ like you got caught in a scrum?” she quipped.

“Yes, well…” he mumbled.

“Of course George wouldn’t actually hit another grown man unless egged on.” She laughed but Ross thought he heard a note of tired resignation. “He's already proven that if he wanted to hurt someone or ruin them, he’d use his snarky attitude, his money--his lawyers–but not his fists. Seems like maybe he’s a wiser man.”

“Than me?” Ross sputtered. She couldn’t mean it.

“I don’t understand, Ross!” She ignored his question and plopped down on the bed next to him. Yes, it was tired resignation. “Why is George Warleggan such a menace to you all of a sudden?”

“It’s hardly sudden. He’s been after Carnmore for years, and now? Now, his shadow lurks over all the Poldarks too. He’s interfering with my family…”

“I thought we were your family. Us--here at Nampara?” she interrupted.

“Demelza,” he exhaled, frustrated that he couldn’t find the right words. “Of course, you are my family...”

“Yet it was a threat from George to the Poldarks that provoked you?” she began. “This was for Uncle Charles’s honour? Or for Elizabeth’s?”

“Demelza…” he sighed.

Again she ignored him and after a quick eye roll, continued.

“No, that wasn’t it.” It hurt to shake his head.

“Whatever. Okay Ross, take your shirt off entirely,” she ordered and rose to her feet again. “Trousers too.”

“What are you doing?” he asked. Without thinking he obeyed her command and began the valiant struggle to free himself from his clothes. It took longer than he expected and he was grateful when she removed his trousers for him so he didn't have to bend over.

“We need photos of your injuries. In case George does pursue charges, we’ll have a record of the damage he did in return to you.” 

She pulled her mobile from her pocket and began taking pictures of his nose, his mouth. She tilted his head to get a better angle of his eye, then she gave him a soft kiss on his temple.

She had no idea how much he needed that--or maybe she did.

“Okay, now your hand. Consider it evidence,” she went on.

“Evidence that I hit him,” Ross said, then taking a chance, he held his hand up and flashed his more imploring eyes. She took the bait and gave his knuckles a kiss.

“Now for your side, I need more light. Where’s Jud’s damn lamp…?”

“Jud?”

“Never mind. Can you stand? Or maybe lie down? No, sit up but just turn this way…”

“Ugh!” he groaned, unable to hide the difficulty in even a slight twist of his torso.

“Ross! Fucking hell! If it hurts that much to turn...”

“I’m fine,” he insisted.

Without touching him, she took a few snaps of his ribs, then sat down again. This time it sounded like a sigh and whimper collected in her throat.

“Ross,” she said, her head slipped into her hands.

He rubbed her back, aware that he was now soothing her. He’d prefer to take her in his arms but doubted he had the mobility to pull that off.

“Demelza? I know you’re angry at me…” he began.

“No, Ross. It isn’t that simple.”

“You think that I'm not listening to you…”

Intrigued, she looked up and raised one brow. She was clearly listening.

“I am--I mean, I do listen,” he said.

She put her hand on his thigh. It felt good, mostly because he welcomed her touch but also because his legs were among the only parts of his body not throbbing in pain.

“Yes, Ross,” she said softly.

His heart sank. It wasn't what she said, but what she didn’t say.

Of course.

She’d grown up in a household of drunken unpredictable anger, and physical brutality--a world she took great pains to leave behind when she came to Nampara. For Ross to cavalierly and unapologetically engage in that very same behaviour, was not just a disappointment, but a betrayal of her trust. She had to know the man she loved wouldn’t ever bring violence into her life--even if he was capable of it.

He had to show her.

“Demelza, I’m sorry,” he said.

“I know,” she whispered.

“And I won’t ever again...”

“Don't make promises Ross. Just try your best,” she said softly. “Just know that I can’t stand to see you hurt.”

“I’ll remember that,” he said and squeezed her hand.

“And George Warleggan certainly isn’t worth all this,” she snorted. “Today of all days, we should finally be through with him!”

“No, he’s not worth it,” he agreed then felt the need for some levity. “I’ll choose better enemies in future.”

“Oh?” It worked. She was amused.

“Like...an angry bear. What if I promise to only resort to violence again if I need to defend you from a bear?”

“Bears have been extinct on this isle for 1500 years,” she said matter-of-factly.

“Wolves?”

“No wolves since the 16th century.” She smiled at yet another factual triumph.

“I’m always impressed with how much you know,” he laughed. “You really do pay attention at school, don't you? Okay...only if I need to defend you from a madman…”

“Close, but still not quite good enough. It would have to be a madman with a knife,” she suggested. “Or, of course, a mad woman--with a knife.”

“That sounds fair,” he nodded and took her hand again, tracing her fingers with his thumb.

“Ross, love, lie down and I’ll get you some more ice.”

“I don't want ice. Just your kisses.” He suppressed a groan as he managed to stretch out on the bed.

“Oh?" she laughed. “Kisses won’t bring down the swellin’ or ease the pain.”

“Yes, they most certainly will ease it. They’ll give me pleasure.” He pulled her down level with him.

“But I might hurt you!’ she cried and began to pull away.

“No, you won’t. I’ll show you. Start here.” He pointed to a spot on the side that had managed to escape injury from left-handed George.

“Yes, Ross.” She gingerly kissed his external oblique then pulled away with a very faint giggle that she struggled to conceal.

“Now here.” A little lower. This time she lingered a little longer.

“And here…” Ross knew those lips and what they were capable of. He closed his eyes and let himself go.

Her open mouth on his skin moved him but he tried not to react too much to the exhilaration. Even small movements brought agony. Her hands were no longer tentative, and with inspired strokes, she traced along the noticeable groove his ligaments made connecting his middle to his groin.

Without waiting for his directive, she moved a few inches inward along his waistline and gave another kiss.

“Now my tummy.”

“Tummy?” She looked up at him, eyes bright, teeth gleaming in an uncontrollable smile.

He’d never used that word with her before to describe his abdomen. She seemed to see he was aiming for a laugh and was willing to play along.

She kissed his navel, careful to stay on the unbruised side of his body.

“Yes, tummy.” He pointed to the shadowy region that crept up from the top of his boxers.

“Um Ross? That’s not your tummy.”

Notes:

I need to credit Winston Graham, who crafted Ross and George’s fight in Jeremy. And of course we got to see that played out in Debbie Horsfield’s S2 scripts.

Also some readers may remember a portion of this chapter from a tumblr post of mine last year. I was given the prompt of “tummy kisses” and this unfolded (thanks @anonymous).

Chapter 93: Holidays Plans

The shrubs around Nampara had been stripped nude and looked fragile in their bare December state. It was hard to remember they’d ever looked unruly in their greenery--neither Demelza nor Ross ever did trim them properly. Now frozen droplets hung like sparkling crystal beads on the thin branches. Winter was trying to create something beautiful--but it wouldn’t last long. Shimmering boughs would soon break under the weight and the sugar glazed paths would turn treacherous, probably later that same night.

Ross pulled into the drive and sighed, this time with content. He cared not what the forecast told them would come later--as long as he was together under his roof with Demelza. He was certain they would weather anything.

He’d opened the truck door before he’d even switched off the engine, eager to get inside.

“Demelza?” He kicked off his boots and listened.

“In the parlour!” she called.

Demelza was sitting on the floor before the fire, stringing up star anise and dried orange slices for yet another garland. She’d already hung several about the place--two of paper flags and hearts, and another one made of popcorn.

“You smell like oranges,” Ross said as bent to kiss Demelza on the head.

“Can’t think how,” she laughed. Grabbing a handful of her own hair, she twisted her neck and tried to give herself a sniff. “It’s not me, and actually these oranges don’t really have any scent. I must have dried them wrong.”

This time he buried his nose in her softness, then settling next to her, he rested his cheek against her forehead.

“Erm…Ross?” she laughed. 

“Not oranges...maybe fresh air?”

“Could also be pine?” She pointed to the fragrant bundles of greenery she'd apparently gathered. Some had been stuffed into an old pair of wellies and placed them before the fireplace, others were laying in piles on the floor in front of her, awaiting their final destination. How he’d missed them when he entered the room he couldn’t say. Then again, he’d only had eyes for her.

“The tree inspired me. After we got it lookin’ so pretty, I thought the rest of the house needed dressin’ up too--for the season, you know,” she smiled, clearly quite proud of herself.

Their Christmas tree had come together nicely though Ross had inadvertently delayed the whole process by brawling with George.

It had taken a few days for the swelling to go down in Ross’s face. Until then, Demelza thought it wise that he ‘lay low’, and while she never said the words, Ross interpreted that to mean she wouldn’t be seen with him in public. But by Wednesday, Ross had looked considerably better (“Yer no worse than usual anyway,” Prudie had encouraged him) so Demelza finally agreed to accompany him to Sawle. Just the previous week, Ross had seen so many trees at Pally’s lot, but by the time they showed up, things had been picked over. 

Still she instantly found one she fell in love with. 

What Ross saw as twisted, she saw as charming.

“Look at the branches, Ross!” she’d laughed. “They look like they’re comin’ in for a hug.”

“You don’t think that’s one too tall for our parlour?” he’d asked. But he didn’t care. He was ready to give her anything she wanted--he was just so relieved to see her smile at him again.

“Oh no, it will be perfect,” she’d assured him.

In the end, they had needed to do a fair bit of trimming--on both the top and the bottom--to get it to fit in such a low ceilinged room. And even then, it bent a bit where it hit the exposed teak beam that ran overhead.

But it was clear, this tree was to be loved.

Demelza had bought new lights for it but was very determined that any ornaments had to come from Nampara--either made or found. The gingerbread people she’d baked at Jinny’s went a long way and she made an impressive five-sided foil star to put at the top. 

Then one evening after supper, Demelza had been carefully folding paper to make origami swans and frogs when Prudie came shuffling out with an old shoe box.

“Found these then,” she’d said with an odd expression on her face.

“Oh look!” Demelza opened the lid with a bright grin. “Old ornaments--and they’re simply adorable!” 

The box was filled with little stuffed birds made out of colourful wool felt. Each had buttons sewn on for eyes and contrasting stitching marking off wings and feathers. And they were glued to clothes pegs so they could easily be clipped to the tree branches

“Ross, did your mother make these?” Demelza had asked softly, holding one gently in her hand as though it were a real bird.

“I doubt it.” He’d remembered what Katherine Carter had said about Grace's inability--and unwillingness--to sew “even a button.”

“Pfff! Why, I made ‘em!” Prudie had snorted. “What? That surprises you?”

“No, Prudie,” Demelza had leapt to her feet and wrapped her arms around the woman. “Thank you! Thank you!”

Ross liked seeing Demelza so happy and her happiness seemed to fill the house. 

Just last week we faced ruin and now so much cheer. How quickly our fortune has changed, he thought.

--

“Whatcha doin’?” Prudie asked, coming up upon Demelza at the kitchen table. In front of her was an old flannel shirt she’d cut up into pieces, a wad of polyester stuffing, some colourful thread, and a pile of odd buttons.

“I'm tryin’ my hand at makin’ your bird ornaments,” Demelza laughed. “Only I didn't have any felt--and I wasn’t up to goin’ out--so I’m usin’ this old shirt.”

“A plaid bird?” Prude scoffed.

“I think it's darlin’,” Demelza said. “But they’re not for us anyway. I thought I’d put them on our wrapped up Christmas gifts for an extra touch.”

“Everythin’ is extra with you,” Prudie laughed. “But as long as yer askin,’ I’d rather have some diamonds tied on my gift.”

“I’ll bear that in mind,” Demelza smiled. Diamonds would be a one way to dress up the oven mitts and a foot massager she’d gotten the woman. 

“Did Mister Ross shop for all them Nampara Poldarks?” Prudie asked.

“I think so. He hasn’t really said anythin’ about it. I picked out somethin’ for Verity and Andrea weeks ago but I don’t know about… the others." Then without meaning to, she winced just a little and put her hand to her eyes.

“Them other Poldarks are a pain, aren’t they?” Prudie nodded. ”Wait a minute…” Her foot started to tap as her mind slowly turned. It reminded Demelza of a treadle on a spinning wheel, moving the drive wheel. “Since when are you not up to goin’ out? What’s wrong with you? Another migraine?” 

“Why does that sound more like an accusation than a concern for my well bein’?” Demelza tried to tease. “It’s just a little headache from threadin’ this needle over and over. The light is shit in here.”' 

Prudie flicked on the overhead which was instantly too bright.

“Ugh,” Demelza said and waved her away. “Please, Prudie. I’ll be fine. Don’t make a big deal out of this.”

“And yer period’s when?”

“Sunday…” Demelza glared at her.

“And Christmas is…?”

“Also Sunday,” she admitted. “Look, the headaches aren’t bad every month, just some. Maybe I’ll be lucky this time. Besides we’ll keep a quiet Christmas, just us here, so that will help.”

Once again, she’d been abandoned by the Carnes for the holidays. This time they were travelling somewhere north to see Nell’s relatives. Demelza had tried not to emit squeals of joy when her youngest brother Drake relayed the news. He had genuinely sounded disappointed not to spend the day with her so she promised to find a time to take him out for cakes and hot chocolate when he returned. Now that she could drive she could arrange those sorts of outings with him and Sam; she vowed in the new year she’d be better about seeing them through.

“Just tell Mister Ross so he knows what he’s dealin’ with,” Prudie said.

“Dealin’ with?” Demelza threw down her sewing in a huff. “That’s exactly the problem, Prudie! He’s been dealin’ with all this financial chaos and family drama and just total fucking shit-storm for weeks, no--months!”

“Aye, watch yer tongue,” Prudie said. 

Demelza raised a brow and rolled her eyes.

“Ross deserves to have a holiday truly free from worry,” Demelza said. “And I’ll not be the cause otherwise!”

---

 

“Well, what do you know?” Ross said, coming out of the bathroom. He was looking at his mobile and shaking his head in amusement.

Demelza was already snuggled in bed, and had switched off the bedroom lights. The waning moon offered little in compensation in the dark room. 

“Oh?” Demelza asked, without opening her eyes or rolling over entirely.

“You awake?’ Ross asked, sliding in beside her. “This can wait until tomorrow if you're…”

“No, what is it, Ross?” She didn't want to call attention to herself as she fought to keep a headache at bay. If he asked she wouldn't lie, but he hadn't noticed. She hoped she hadn’t sounded too grumpy. 

He switched the lamp next to him back on and she tried not to flinch.

“We’ve two invitations for Saturday,” he said.

“Saturday?” she repeated.

“Yes, Christmas Eve.” 

“Oh,” she said again.

“Tonkin is having a little party,” he explained. “At the brewery.”

“On Christmas Eve? Wouldn't folks rather be with their families than go to a work do?” Demelza asked.

“He has it every year, people love it, perhaps because it’s more fun than being with their families. And families are invited. But that’s later in the evening anyway.”

“Later?” she gulped.

“Yes, so before that we can go to dinner at the Poldarks’ in Trenwith Road. That's the email I was just reading,” he said. He patted her hip, then turned to settle against his pillows.

“Poldarks?” she said. “Oh well…you can go…”

“Naturally we both go or we both stay,” he said.

She looked at him with a curious expression she couldn’t disguise--half quizzical, half troubled. Then she flopped on her back as though she didn't want to look at him at all.

Of course there was no “naturally” for them. The exact rules of how their relationship played in front of the rest of the world seemed to always be in flux.

“You were invited too,” he tried to reassure her.

“Was the invitation specifically for me or just a ‘plus one’?” she asked, staring up at the ceiling.

“No, you are named,” he laughed and leaned over to twist her hair between his fingers. “Here read it,” he said and handed over his mobile.

Dear Ross, You‘ve most likely heard that Verity and Andrea are coming for Christmas. Your uncle is looking forward to the visit, as are the rest of us. By the way, in case it was never said, we cannot thank you enough for all you did this summer to smooth things over between Verity and Charles. We are most grateful… 

At this Demelza snorted but read on.

We’d love for you to join us on Christmas Eve for dinner. It will be a small gathering--just immediate family and a few neighbours. Verity tells me your friend Demelza lives at Nampara year round these days. Please do bring her if her family can spare her. 

Demelza snorted again. 

Best wishes of the season, Elizabeth.

 

"See? Do you need further convincing?” he teased.

“You mean, am I convinced that the orphan girl is truly welcome?” she said with just a hint of irritation. “They’ll send me to eat with Geoffrey Charles,” she said, then turned back to her pillow.

“That's better than eating with Aunt Agatha.”

“I like Aunt Agatha,” she replied. “She may be my favourite Poldark yet.”

“That's because you have not yet been the victim of her sharp tongue,” he said.

“At least she says what she means.”

“Don’t wish for it. If you are close to her, she’ll turn on you soon enough,” he warned. “But I think everyone will be on their best behaviour for Uncle Charles’s sake.”

“Yes, well, he’s another one who gives me pause,” she sighed. “He and I have probably exchanged about four sentences total in all the years I've known you.”

“And now you'll have a chance to change that. I heard he’s appreciative of your assistance this summer caring for Geoffrey Charles.”

“I doubt that,” she said.

“Oh, damn!” Ross sat up as though he just remembered something. “I still haven’t gotten the boy a Christmas present. I’m a shit uncle.”

“Yup, you must be. Okay Poldark,” she groaned. “Give me your credit card tomorrow so I can get that sorted.”

“You will? I mean…”

“Don’t forget, Geoffrey Charles and I are old mates. Besides, I think I have an idea,” she said. “Wait, Ross, who are these neighbours Elizabeth invited?”  

“No clue.”

Demelza turned and looked at him with her most serious expression.

“They wouldn't dare invite George,” Ross said in response to her unspoken fear.

“Oh? You sound sure of that?” She had less confidence in Elizabeth’s judgement--and loyalties--than Ross did. “Although if George were there, it might add a layer of entertainment to the evenin’,'' she sighed.

“It most certainly would not,” he said. “Besides, I promised you I would never fight a man again.”

“Right, only bears with knives,” she laughed. “Ross, what are you doin’?”

“Texting Elizabeth and telling her we’ll come. There, it’s done.”

“Isn't it a little late to be…”

Just then they heard the ding of a text coming into Ross’s mobile.

“That was fast,” Demelza mumbled. 

Or is she up late every night on the off chance Ross will send her a text?

“She says she’s happy, and they can’t wait,” Ross reported, then switched his lamp off again.

“Oh good,” Demelza said through her clenched teeth but Ross didn’t seem to catch any sarcasm, nor did he seem to perceive her true feelings on the matter.

She’d rather visit a whole den of armed bears than spend an evening at Trenwith Road.

 

Notes:

Of course Ross’s pressure to attend Christmas Eve at Trenwith Road was inspired by both Winston Graham’s Ross Poldark: A Novel of Cornwall and also Debbie Horsfield’s script from S1.4.

In this version, when Demelza says she’d rather visit a whole den of armed bears than spend an evening at Trenwith Road, it is a play on her thinking she’d rather see the mine barber and have six (6!) teeth pulled(also from Ross Poldark: A Novel of Cornwall).

Chapter 94: Quot Estis In Convivio

Demelza stood before the work surface, examining her precious Christmas pudding. She’d already unwrapped it and then rewrapped it again several times today alone. She’d do the full plating--with holly garnish and brandy sauce--later when it was just Ross and her alone.

“Caput Apri defero, Reddens laudes Domino…” 

A loud but joyous voice could be heard outside on the drive. Prudie was packing up the Mondeo with all she’d need for her annual Christmas feast at cousin Tina’s in Marasanvose. She would only be gone through Boxing Day, but the car looked as stuffed as it had for her week’s holiday back in July.

“Has Prudie already left?” Ross asked, coming in from his study.

“Can’t you hear her? That’s the part she always tries to harmonise,” Demelza laughed then hummed along. 

“They can probably hear her in Sawle…” Ross said.

“Did you need her for somethin’? If you run out you can still catch her,” Demelza said.

“No, let her have her merriment” Ross sat down to watch Demelza work.

“You too, Ross, I pray you, my masters, be merry, Quot estis in convivio,” Demelza sang. 

“You have a pretty voice, Demelza,” he said softly.

“Maybe so but I doubt I can match Tina and Prudie’s spirit!”

“Yes, when they are in their cups…Demelza, didn't Tina just have a holiday party last week?” Ross asked.

“Oh do keep up, Ross,” Demelza laughed. “That was for friends. This one is for their family and maybe special friends.”

“And we didn't make the cut?” he teased. 

“I wonder if Jud will be there,” she asked. She’d been tying string around the outer cloth wrapping of the pudding and stopped mid knot, lost in thought for a moment.

“I hope not,” Ross said, catching her eye and her attention. “Oh don’t look at me like I’m such a grump. I don’t trust the man--and neither do you.”

“That's right, I don’t,” Demelza agreed. “But whether I trust him or not, isn't the issue. It’s up to Prudie to decide where she gives her heart.”

“Let’s hope it's not that,” Ross grumbled and shook his head to dislodge the thought.

“What--love? Wouldn’t that be better than a mere hook up? Anyway, if it's love then It's especially not my place to judge,” Demelza said.

“But isn’t it? If someone you cared about and loved was making a colossal mistake, wouldn't you--shouldn't you--intervene?” he asked.

“Ross? Did you just admit you love Prudie?” Demelza laughed. “Look, I would care and I’d want to make sure they thought things through, but in the end, if there’s love, then it’s not for us, or for anyone to look down upon that.”

“Sounds wise--and utterly unconvincing,” he said. “Some matches should be left to the past and forgotten.”

“You know I disagree, Ross, but we won’t let that fester,” she said. “Caput Apri defero Reddens laudes Domino,” she sang again and patted her wrapped pudding. “Let’s save the lightin’ of the sauce for tomorrow. It seems fittin’ for Christmas Day proper, don’t you think?”

“If that’s what you want. It already smells amazing–and I’d prefer it to the head of a boar any day of the year,” he said.

“An actual head? I always thought that it referred to a hogshead of ale, isn’t that an old unit of measurement?”

“You’ve been spending too much time with brewers,” he laughed.

“So this song is really about bein’ so grateful for a disgustin’ cut of meat and then singin’ its praises? I’d rather sing to a barrel of ale.”

“More or less. My Latin isn’t that great. But I think the head was meant to be quite the delicacy. Wait, Demelza, you don’t even like ale,” he laughed again.

“I don’t have to drink it but I can respect it. After all, it keeps a roof over our heads!”

“I’ll drink to that,” Ross said. 

“Somehow I doubt they’ll be servin’ pig’s head tonight at Trenwith Road,” she said and moved towards the cupboard to put her pudding away.

“Listen Demelza, about that…” Ross began. “I’m afraid I have some bad news.”

“Bad? Oh Ross!” she turned quickly to face him.

“No, no, not that kind of bad. Just inconvenient.” He took her hand in his. “I have to go out, now, but just for a little bit.”

“Where are you goin’?” Both confused and curious, her eyes had grown wide.

“To see my lawyer,” Ross sighed.

“On Christmas Eve? Oh Ross!” she cried. “Now I really do feel like an abandoned orphan.”

“It’s just the last bit of papers to be signed after the Warleggan debacle.”

“Which one--the lawsuit or the fight?” She raised one brow as she spoke, making it clear she was still questioning Ross’s impulsive actions of the previous week.

“Thankfully George still hasn't said a word about the fight,” Ross answered sheepishly. “So no, it's the lawsuit.”

“Oh Ross! Who does business on Christmas Eve?” she asked. “Or is Rosehill not…”

“No, he’s Christian, it's just that he’s off to Spain tomorrow. And it must be important if it needs to be settled before he goes.”

“A Christmas holiday away sounds lovely…” she said.

“You mean better than with family?” he laughed. “Look, I just confirmed with Andrea and Verity--they’ll come pick you up at five and then I’ll meet you all at Trenwith Road. I’ll be an hour with Rosehill, tops. In fact if I leave now, I shouldn't be too late.”

“Go to Trenwith without you? Oh Ross. I can wait, we can both be late together.”

“Nonsense. Also no need to overdress for tonight,” he said.

“I'm not even sure what that means, Ross,” she said, “So if you’re tryin’ to be helpful, it’s not workin’...”

“I mean this isn't an evening wear sort of event, just a family party.”

“But afterward? For Carnmore? What will that be like? Is it more ugly sweater or is it sequins?”

“Have you either?” he laughed.

“Ross! Don’t tease. And it’s not fair–it's easier for men. You have like three options. No jacket? Jacket? Jacket and tie?”

“Jacket, no tie. And maybe I’ll take the jacket off,” Ross said. “Demelza, just be yourself.”

“Yes, Ross,” she mumbled. 

That’s just the problem. Myself.

It wasn’t worth explaining to him why she felt so anxious about the Trenwith dinner. On the whole, he was usually rather observant of her moods, so the fact that he didn't pick up on her trepidation was disappointing. Then again, if he had Carnmore business on his mind still, he would no doubt be distracted.

“I’m off then,” Ross said. “Do you want me to swing by the Carters on my way to Truro and give Katherine her Christmas present?“

“Yes, I can’t really ask Verity and Andrea to make a stop,” Demelza said. 

Ross came up behind her to give her one last kiss on the cheek. “I’ll see you later, my love.”

“Yes, Ross,” she replied, without moving. Then she closed her eyes. A familiar pain pulsed above her left brow moving towards her temple.

She listened to Ross’s feet on the flagstone floor in the hallway, the sound of his keys jingling in his hand while he walked out, the click of the lock in the strike plate as the door closed. Then the reluctant growl of the truck’s engine starting in the cold.

She was alone again but this time didn’t like the feeling.

“Let us servire cantico,” she muttered to herself and went to search out some paracetamol.

Notes:

Ross’s clumsy advice on how to dress for dinner at Trenwith borrowed from Winston Graham’s Ross Poldark: A Novel of Cornwall and Debbie Horsfield’s scripts S1.4. Also the use of the Boar’s Head Carol inspired by the same episode. The title of the chapter translates to: “As many as are at the feast.” I found the lyrics here:

https://www.lyricsondemand.com/christmascarols/b/boarsheadinhandbearilyrics.html

The boar's head in hand bear I,
Bedeck'd with bays and rosemary;
I pray you, my masters, be merry,
Quot estis in convivio.

Caput Apri defero
Reddens laudes Domino.

Chapter 95: Courage and Conquests

Demelza looked in the mirror and sighed. She had half her hair pinned up and the other down, unable to decide what route to take. In the end, she went with up, on the off-chance it made her look older but then worried that she might appear overdressed. Would that be worse than underdressing? 

It all came down to power.

Unspoken rules, assumptions, access to information…Without knowing the hosts well and truly belonging to their circle, she wouldn’t be privy to the expectations. She regretted she hadn’t thought to ask Verity, but even then there’d be subtleties she might miss. 

It doesn’t matter what I do or what I say, she thought to herself. They’ll judge me based on their own preconceptions. Or they won’t notice me at all. 

But even if the evening was to be a bust, at least she was happy in her choice of a dress. A nice quality wool crepe, with a banded collar and cap sleeves, all black, except for the keyhole neckline trimmed with red tartan piping adding a festive touch. Demelza had paired it with her favourite tights, ones with a windowpane weave and only a small hole in the toe. T-straps of moderate heel, small gold hoop earrings, and lipstick just a tad brighter than she might normally wear, completed the look.

In the end, she was satisfied. Other than pouring a drink from one of the decanters downstairs, there wasn’t really more she could do to bolster her confidence. 

Perhaps it won’t be so bad, she thought. I have friends in Verity and Andrea. And maybe even Geoffrey Charles. She wondered if Elizabeth’s cousin Morwenna would be there and if so in what capacity--relative or employee?

----

The exterior of the house in Trenwith Road had been decorated with taste and restraint. Boxwoods in their elegant planters had been manicured into perfect spheres and strung with small white lights. Each of the dark double doors featured its own wreath and a strap of sleigh cheerful bells. 

“Okay, kiddo, you got this,” Andrea winked to Demelza as they closed the car doors and picked their way across the icy drive towards the front steps. 

It occurred then to Demelza that as awkward and as uncomfortable this all might be for her, it would be more so–and with higher stakes–for Verity and Andrea. By all reports, their visit had been going well thus far but a setback with Uncle Charles would surely be felt by all.

She could take any amount of discomfort and even humiliation, but she’d not wish the same on dear Verity and Andrea. 

Of course Demelza had liked Verity from the moment she first met her years before, but since the visit to Manchester that summer, Demelza realised that she liked Ross’s cousin even more in the company of Andrea. They were so warm and alive--and loving. 

Demelza had been heartened to learn that not all the Poldarks were as cross and stiff as Uncle Charles, Elizabeth, and, well, even Ross at times.

“How good of you to join us,” Elizabeth said as they stepped inside the warm and brightly lit hallway. It smelled of cinnamon and clove, but maybe from a scented candle and not from any fresh baking. 

A woman Demelza didn't recognise took her coat and promptly disappeared. 

“Come, everyone is in the parlour,” Elizabeth said.

Demelza paused, recalling from the summer how Elizabeth kept a strict no shoe rule inside the house. How could she have forgotten? And today she was wearing tights with a hole in the toe. 

Good god, I’ve already fucked this up, she thought.

Then she quickly looked around and listened to the sound of heels clicking on the polished floor. All the other Poldarks, including Elizabeth, were wearing shoes today. Such rules seemed to have been relaxed for the occasion. 

One minor crisis averted, Demelza took a deep breath and held her head high. They’d take her at her own valuation, so she’d better start thinking better of herself fast. 

“This is Demelza, Ross’s friend,” Verity said entering the room first. Demelza was grateful for the warm introduction and felt Andrea coming in a few steps behind her. She was well protected from whatever was to come.

“Yes, Demelza. She’s worked at Nampara for a few years now,” Uncle Charles said, the bulb of recognition finally lit.

At least he didn't refer to me as Ross’s charity case.

Elizabeth looked at her hands folded in front of her. 

Just what does she know? Demelza wondered.

“These are our neighbours, John Treneglos and Ruth Teague, his fiance,” Verity continued to make introductions to the others in the room. “Aunt Agatha? You remember Demelza?” 

“Yes, this one I like,” Agatha grumbled and looked at Ruth and John with a barely disguised scoff. 

Demelza tried not to laugh.

“And how are Ross’s hops?” Ruth asked. “Or do you take care of his livestock?”

“Livestock? What’s this about livestock?” John Treneglos laughed, then ignoring Ruth’s taunt, turned to Demelza and smiled naughtily. “You don’t look like a farm hand.”

“No, you're right,” she found the courage to laugh. “And since the Christmas Eve story takes place in a stable, I should have at least dressed for the occasion and worn my wellies or brought a cow along.”

Both men laughed, Charles until he began to wheeze and John quite long and boisterously. But the icy expression that washed over Ruth’s face was clear. She was not pleased with her finance’s over-friendliness. Or Demelza’s poise. 

“Only just got here and already you’re making conquests,” Andrea whispered to Demelza.

“Look at Ruth’s face,” Verity said. “Good god, I hope she doesn't make trouble.”

“She wouldn't dare,” Andrea laughed. “She’d like to believe she’s too well bred for drama.”

---

There was room on the sofa and in one of the overstuffed chairs but Demelza preferred standing, as if remaining on her feet might facilitate a quick get away if necessary. But there were no signs of any other guests lurking in corners, which was another reason to be relieved.

Twice women dressed in white shirts and black trousers entered quietly to clear plates and fill glasses. Uncle Charles and John seemed oblivious to them and continued chatting away. The hazardous combination of red wine and white upholstery made Demelza nervous.

“Has Elizabeth always had so much staff?” Demelza whispered to Verity.

“She’s hired them on just for the weekend,” Verity explained. “She had dinner catered too.”

And yet even with the extra help, Verity still seemed to slip into a role of caretaker and more than once jumped to her feet to fetch her father a mince pie or to fluff Aunt Agatha’s pillow. Andrea’s mouth twisted just a little at the corners but she bit her tongue. If it displeased her to see Verity taken for granted, now wasn’t the time to voice objections.

“If you want to see the new year, Charles, you’d better watch those sweets,” Aunt Agatha said. “And all that rich food…” She shook her head menacingly.

“It’s a wonder she’s still here,” John mumbled to Ruth who nodded in agreement.

“Is Miss Morwenna here today?” Demelza asked Aunt Agatha, trying to steer her attention away from the others.

“Wenna? No, Elizabeth gave her off through Boxing Day, as if my needs ever take a holiday!” Agatha grumbled. “But I suppose I’ll manage as long as I have little Verity about...”

“I’m sure you all must be quite happy about that,” Demelza said. “Somethin’ to be grateful for.”

“What? Yes, erm…grateful,” Agatha agreed and nodded. 

“Demelza, can I get you a glass of wine?” Verity asked nervously, perhaps looking for an excuse to leave the room. Aunt Agatha had been derailed but only for a moment. And who knew when the next arrow might be slung.

“I don’t know if I should…” Demelza said softly to Andrea.

“Pfft! This is a private residence, so you’re legal. Besides, the only one here who knows your age, other than Ver and me, is Elizabeth, and she’s so tense tonight she wouldn't dare rock the boat,” Andrea reassured her. “And if she looks at the door one more time…is she planning on doing a runner or waiting for Father Christmas to save her?”

“She's waitin’ for Ross,” Demelza said.  

So am I. And which one will he look to first?

“Not bad at all but I’d still prefer a whisky,” Andrea said after taking a hearty drink from the glass Verity brought to her.

“This will do me just fine. I’m not really one for strong spirits,” Demelza smiled and took one small sip, hoping she wouldn’t leave a lipstick mark on the crystal--or that the wine wouldn’t cause a headache to flare. 

“Good god, my Uncle Joshua used to keep the most fiery rum around. Real pirate stuff, he called it,” Verity laughed. “When we were young, Ross and I used to dare each other to take a sip. He could never do it without getting sick.”

“Oh Ross has grown better at it, I assure you,” Demelza laughed.

Had it really only been one year since she’d shared the old bottle of overproof rum with Ross? So many of her favourite memories came from that night, even if it had ended with an unspoken embarrassment between them. Of course she knew now what she could scarcely admit to  herself then. A year ago she was already in love with Ross and would have done anything for him, expecting nothing in return. But she’d never have imagined--not ever--that she’d one day be his lover. To love him and be loved by him in return? It was a dream and a gift.

And tonight, no matter how lovely Elizabeth looked or how sweetly she batted her eyes at Ross, Demelza could take heart knowing that she, and not Elizabeth, would end up in that bed, in his arms.

Without realising it, Demelza hitched a breath. Her heart was pounding in her chest just thinking about how it felt when Ross looked into her eyes or when he used that rough whisper with her alone.

Demelza…

“Demelza, that is such a lovely dress,” Verity said. She had subtly turned her back away from the conversations happening at the other end of the room.

“Thank you, I’m lucky to have found it,” she said. “Do you know the vintage shop in Perranporth?” 

“Oh that place is still there? I’m glad to hear it,” Verity said. “I used to go there all the time when I was younger. Although now that I think of it, it gave me something to do when I wanted to get out of the house,” she laughed.

“I can see that. Even if you’re not lookin’ to buy anythin’, it’s so much fun. Like travelin’ back in time and findin’ all kinds of treasures. Clothes used to be so well made–well most of them, anyway. I suppose you have to know what you are lookin’ for.”

“Next time you come to Manchester, we’ll take you on a real thrifting adventure,” Andrea said. “Right, Ver?”

“Oh yes, maybe the Northern Quarter?”

“Of course those spots get written up in travel blogs, so now folks from London and even LA have discovered them. Still, I know some hidden gems where you can still find the real deals,” Andrea said.

“That sounds brilliant!” Demelza replied. “I’d love that.”

“You should come for Easter hols,” Andrea suggested. “One last hoorah before exams?”

“Ugh, I don't really want to think that far in the future, at least not tonight,” Demelza flashed a nervous smile.

“Point taken, I remember that stress and I wouldn't wish it on my worst enemy,” Andrea said. “I don’t know why we think so much pressure makes for good students--or good people.”

“I doubt anyone does think that, it's just what we do anyway,” Verity sighed. “Oh, I love those shoes too, Demelza,” she added, graciously changing the subject. “Are those also vintage?”

“I hope you are enjoying yourselves.” Elizabeth’s polished voice came up behind Demelza before she could answer Verity’s question.

She can't understand how I already have a friendship with Verity and Andrea. Or maybe she can’t stand to be left out? Demelza thought. 

Then a third thought hit her–that Elizabeth might be very lonely. 

Elizabeth didn't have the companionship with Charles that one ought to have with a partner–especially a spouse. Certainly not now, but did she ever? All night Charles had seemed almost indifferent to his wife and to anything she said. 

And whether or not Elizabeth enjoyed being a mum, Demelza couldn’t say. She recalled how a good burp from Benjy made Jinny so happy yet this woman never really allowed her guard down. Was she ever open to the unexpected moments of love and joy? Elizabeth was missing something important by keeping her home–and her heart–so tidy and scripted. 

But it didn't matter what choices Elizabeth made in her life, no one deserved to feel alone.

“Yes, thank you,” Demelza said. She was surprised how much she meant it.

“I seem to have interrupted your conversation,” Elizabeth said, looking to Verity for an explanation of what she’d missed.

“We were just talking about old shoes,” Andrea said, with a wink to Demelza.

Notes:

The reference to conquests comes from Debbie Hosfield’s S1.4 script.

And the line “Take you at your own valuation” (I played with it soits in Demelza’s thoughts not from Ross) comes from Ross Poldark: A Novel of Cornwall.

When looking over my notes I found this: “Earlier that day she'd referred to her as Ross's little beggar girl and was surprised that no one else had joined in her teasing. Charles was too indifferent to anything Elizabeth said these days and Verity had somehow befriended the girl.”

I can't find this as a quote from my version of the Poldark novel, but maybe I got it from someone else’s synopsis/post on that scene? Maybe this happens in the Ward Locke edition? I'm rather sure they aren't my own words…and I'd like to give credit.

Chapter 96: What Loves Has Ordained

Notes:

Dear readers, please note I changed the tags on this story to now include trauma and date rape. If that is too much for you, I apologise. I promise you can skip this chapter and pick up with Chapter 97 (“Promises To Keep”).

 

---

“Oh, Ross is that you?” Katherine Carter called from inside after Ross had rung the bell. “Come in, the door’s unlocked but don't let the cat…”

“Damn it!” Ross mumbled as a small tuxedo cat dashed past his legs. He tried to thwart it with his foot but stopped short, not wanting to kick it. There wasn’t much else he could do; his hands were full.

Katherine Carter appeared in the doorframe shaking her head. 

“Katherine, I’m so sorry. Let me go search for him…” Ross said quickly.

“No, he’s a little rascal but he'll be back once he realises his dish is inside and it’s wet out there. Come in, come in,” she laughed. “What’s this you have?”

“Merry Christmas,” he said. “This is for you and your family.” 

It was a charcuterie platter that Demelza had put together. As expected, she’d gotten a good deal on the cured meats from Trembath, but the rest--the crostini, the cheeses, the olives, the fresh herbs--she’d selected and artfully arranged. The board itself was Ross’s contribution. They’d found an old maple plank in the north barn that he cut to size and sanded smooth. Then he’d oiled it until it was as smooth as glass.

“Good lord, look at how lovely that is!” Katherine gasped. “Oh those little salami rosettes! So darlin’! How did she do it?” Of course she could detect Demelza’s hand in it all.

“By the way, Demelza loved the paperwhites,” Ross remembered to say. 

It was true. Once she was assured Ross’s injuries from his George scufuffle weren’t life threatening, Demelza took notice of the flowers and gave them the admiration they deserved. In fact for days she carried the box from room to room so that they were always in optimal view.

“No use leavin’ them in the parlour if we’re upstairs,” she’d explained to Ross.

“Are you alone again?” Ross asked Mrs. Carter, and listened to the quiet house. What sounded like Christmas music played softly in the kitchen but there were no footsteps or voices or the cries of a baby to be heard.

“Yes, Jinny took the girls and Benjy to hear lessons and carols in Crantock. Not really my thing, but you know Jinny’s family is Methodist,” Katherine laughed. “They’ll be back by five then all the Martins are comin’ over for Christmas Eve. Then tomorrow we’re headin’ to theirs. After so many years of bein’ alone, suddenly we’ve so much family!” 

Ross could hear his heart beating in his chest. He hadn’t come today with the intention of asking Katherine the questions that for months had been churning round his head--and his gut--and while perhaps Christmas wasn’t the best time to bring up old and possibly painful memories, he found his chance in that moment. Hadn’t she opened the door by mentioning family?

“Stay for a drink, Ross?” Katherine asked and without waiting for his reply, took his coat.

Ross lowered himself into one of the worn but very comfortable armchairs and accepted the glass of mulled wine she offered.

“Cheers!” she smiled.

“Cheers. Katherine, I’ve been…” he began, then took another sip for courage. “I’ve been wondering about something for some time now. It’s about my father…”

“Joshua?” she laughed then sighed.

“You knew him well…”

“As well as anyone did--after Grace that is. On my part, I tried to be his friend, even in the end when he got well…a little irascible.”

It was a generous assessment of a difficult man that others called ill-tempered and down right surly.

“And he always seemed to have a particular concern for Jim…” Ross went on.

“He did.” Katherine nodded and looked into her glass.

“Is he…was Joshua Jim’s father?” Ross hadn’t meant to ask the question so boldly but there it was. A bell that couldn't be unrung.

“Oh Ross…” She looked up at him with kind eyes, eyes that were lined around the edges from years of worry and tears. 

He saw that some hurt had been stirred by the question but maybe also some love.

“Ross, my dear boy,” she sighed. “Oh there are times I look at you and I see so much of Joshua.  And also Grace. You probably aren’t told how much you resemble her.”

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled.

“No, Ross, don’t apologise,” she smiled. “And no, Joshua isn’t Jim’s father.”

“Oh, of course, I shouldn’t have…”

“The truth is I never knew who Jim’s biological father is--was. But you see, that’s how I came to know your parents. When I was alone and pregnant with Jim, they took me in after my own mum tossed me out,” she explained.

“I’m sorry,” Ross said again but now meant it in an entirely different way.

“Give me your glass,” she said. “It's a bit of a long tale if you’ve the time for a refill.”

“Yes,” Ross said. “I have time.”

---

When Katherine spoke of the past, it was as though no years had passed, certainly not decades. She could remember dates and names clear as day. Ross wondered if she’d told this story before or if had been rattling around in her own thoughts long enough that she'd had a chance to work out all the details.

“Cary and Nick Warleggan had a stake in a club, then. It was in Hartnell Road, just up from Place House. You know, where that Thai restaurant is now?”

Ross nodded. 

“Oh it was down market,” she laughed, “But they thought it was somethin’ special. I waited tables there and sometimes was behind the bar. Mostly tables though. Some of the regulars were nice fellows but others, well they were mates of Blencowe and Tankard, nasty sorts, and not from around here.”

Ross knew the men she spoke of, not well, but had at least heard their names from his father. Now that Ross thought of it, he recalled Joshua would usually scowl or even spit whenever they-- or the Warleggans--were mentioned.

“So one evenin’ I went to work, did my usual shift, but woke up in the back room the next mornin’ with no idea how I got there or what had been done to me. Well, some of my clothes were gone so I figured that part out right away. Turns out someone slipped somethin’ in my drink.” 

“Good god,” Ross said softly.

“Girls know to be careful about that now and look out for each other, that’s a good thing,” she said. “I had no one then. Well, not until Grace. She volunteered at the Women’s Crisis Centre and when I finally dragged myself there, I met her first.”

“My mother? I didn't know she did that,” Ross said.

“She was the best--compassionate and warm but straight. It's hard work to face trauma and she didn’t sugar coat that. Nothin’ got swept under the carpets, all demons faced. ‘Truth always wins,’ she’d say.”

“And she took you in at Nampara?” he asked. “I admit I have no memory of this.”

“Well, that was beyond Grace’s professional scope. Then she was just bein’ a friend,” Katherine laughed. “But your mother was like that, bringin’ in all manner of strays and nursin’ them back to health.”

The description reminded Ross of someone else who now occupied Nampara.

“You were so young at the time, no wonder you don’t remember. And I wasn’t there long--just a few weeks. Joshua had connections and helped me find a job, and then soon after I met my Arthur. We were married a month before Jim was born and Jim always had his name. Now Benjy has it too.”

“I see,” Ross said. “Did you ever…press charges?”

“Against whom? Everyone there would have said they saw nothin’ and in truth I didn’t ask. I never went to the police or had samples collected or any of that. And I never went back to that club--didn't even collect my last pay packet.”

“Katherine…” he said.

“It was a difficult time for me, Ross. And I’d thought it had been the most difficult until...well until Jim left us.” She shook her head and smiled. “But even still, as dark as those days were, I can’t ever forget that kindness from your mum and dad,” she explained. 

“Did Jim know any of this?” 

“Yes, Mr. Carter--Art--and I told Jim everything once he was no longer a boy. Thought It was right he should know. Jim said he didn’t care--that Art was his dad and that was all that mattered. ‘Course after Art passed away, Jim started to get curious. Talked about maybe doin’ a DNA test. I told him I wouldn't want that but that it was his choice. He never did though. I suppose we could test little Benjy but I wouldn't bring that up to Jinny, not now. And I still don’t want to know.” 

“Oh?’

“You see, Jim was mine. Mine alone--no, I was willin’ to share him with Art and with Jinny, mind. But as long as I didn't know who his biological father was, then I never had to allow that…that shadow into his life. Of how he came to be,” she explained. “And I loved him, I loved that silly little boy and that's what mattered in our house. There was no room for anythin’ else.”

Ross took a drink and felt his chest swell. He hated a world where young girls were so misused and violated. Where men didn’t pay consequences for the hurt they caused others. But he also took some comfort that his parents had made a difference in someone’s life just by being kind and decent. And he was heartened by the idea that a boy like Jim--lanky and foolish, lazy at worst, careless at best--could be so loved in that same world. Loved by Katherine, by his sisters, by Jinny. Even Demelza had found value in Jim where Ross had failed to see it. 

Joshua had seen it too.

“All those years late…am I right that my father helped you again?”

“And all this time I thought I was helpin’ him?” Katherine winked. “No, you got it right. After Art was gone, your father kept an eye out for us all. By then I also had our little Kate and Mimi, but Joshua watched out for Jim. Then you did after Joshua passed. I think it made all the difference.”

“Yes…” Ross said. He hoped she was right. But maybe Joshua’s eye and even Ross’s good intentions just hadn’t been enough.

“To Jim,” Katherine raised a glass. “And to Joshua and Grace.”

“To family and friends,” Ross said.

Notes:

Might seem like an odd choice to insert this chapter between others of holiday cheer. I had meant to set up this conversation between Ross and Katherine earlier but couldn't get the timing right.

Years ago I read a post somewhere from someone who claimed WG hinted that Zacky Martin was Joshua’s “natural son”--maybe it is in the Ward Locke edition? Anyway, that’s where I got the idea of a possible half brother and since I played so much with relationships and characters decided to make Jim my target, not Zacky.

Chapter 97: Promises To Keep

The road to Truro was empty and Ross took the opportunity to drive a little faster than he might normally. It felt good to be moving after being stuck these many months, like exhaling a deep breath of clean air after being below ground. The weight that had taken up residence on his chest had finally taken flight. 

In his heart he should have known--and he should have given Joshua more credit.

For Joshua to have fathered Jim, he would have done it under Grace’s nose, perhaps in their own home. And if Ross had stopped to consider what he knew of his parents’ marriage, he would have concluded that just wasn’t likely. Sure Joshua was a ladies man but not until after Grace had died. Furthermore, Ross didn't think Joshua, even as flawed and broken as he was at the time of his death, would have left Jim out of his will if the boy had been blood. Granted there hadn't been much for Ross to inherit but even a sliver of Nampara land would have meant something to Jim--and to his family.

Ross had never voiced any of his worries to Demelza but now he couldn't wait to tell her all. She’d be irked that he kept it to himself but she’d get why he’d thought it and also why it had tormented him. She’d be devastated that Katherine bore such a scar and her heart would break anew for Jim.

She’d understand.

“It doesn't matter if you’re blood proper,” he could imagine her saying. “You've already taken them on as family and for the right reasons--because you wanted to and you saw a need. Not because you were duty bound.” He suspected she might even be proud of him.

The winter chill had returned and the air that came roaring out of the vents inside his truck offered little comfort in response. Still, the thought of Demelza warmed him. 

But, as important as this news was to him, it would keep. He’d find a time tomorrow or even the next day when they were alone and uninterrupted to explain what he’d learned.

And they'd have to decide what to do about their suspicions about Jim’s death. It wasn’t right to bring it up to Katherine, not now. Her grief was still too raw and it would be irresponsible and cruel to even mention it without a shred of evidence. All they had was an unclaimed pair of spectacles and a hunch--two hunches since both he and Demelza felt it. And while Ross had come to trust Demelza’s instinct, that his was aligned with hers on this must mean something.

Of course now that he knew the Warleggans had a role in Jim’s arrest, he just couldn’t let it go. 

After Demelza learned that the lawsuit against Carnmore was dropped, she’d finally been able to share Paul Daniel’s tale. Ross was flabbergasted as she laid it all out for him but he also promised her he wouldn't act on it. Not yet anyway. 

What else could he have said to her? There she’s been sobbing out this unbelievable tale that she’d managed to uncover on her own and that had been eating her alive--news that had caused them both so much friction and distress. So as he listened, Ross had tried to be calm for her, holding her tight with his sore arms, rubbing her back with his swollen hands, and kissing her with his bruised mouth--all trophies from his latest Warleggan encounter. 

No, this time Ross had to keep his promise to her.

But Joshua’s old friend, Tholly Tregirls, had a niece who was custodial manager at Brinsford.  Maybe Ross could discreetly get in touch with her and ask a few questions about gangs and typical prison violence patterns. If there was something amiss at Dartmoor or with anyone associated with Vigas--or the Warleggans--there was an off chance she’d know. It was a longshot but a place to start anyway.

Ross found a parking spot on the street not far from Rosehill’s office and switched off the ignition. But as soon as his feet hit the pavement, he turned right, not left, in search of the little lane he’d explored the other day. 

--

“Evening, sir.” A woman without a coat was leaning against the wall outside finishing a cigarette. “I’ll be right with you.” She exhaled a few perfect rings then stooped to retrieve the stamped out butt from the cobblestone walk.

“Thank goodness, you’re still open,” Ross sighed as he entered the warm shop.

“We learned years ago there’s always some last minute shoppers on Christmas Eve,” she laughed. “Of course you look like a gentleman who plans ahead.” Now she winked.

“I did,” he found himself explaining. “Only now I think I’ve gotten it all wrong.”

He’d had every intention of getting Demelza something else besides the new mobile, something personal, but after his fight with George, he worried she’d think he was only trying to get into her good graces. Nothing had felt right. Not until just now. 

“I need something…” he started.

“Special?” she laughed.

“Yes, special.”

“For a special someone?”

“Very special,” he blushed.

“New or old?” she asked.

“Oh, I’ve known her for a long time but our relationship is rather new,” he stumbled. “Or not. And she’s not old.”

“I mean you want vintage or something flashy and new?” she laughed.

“Vintage. Something that’s been loved.”

“Oh, I know just the thing.” She nodded and walked towards the window display. “How’s your Latin?”

 

Notes:

The thought of Demelxa warmed him” is lifted right from the lovely Christmas at Trenwith passages in Ross Poldark: A Novel of Cornwall.

Chapter 98: Slings and Arrows

The cocktail hour at Trenwith Road seemed to drag well beyond a single hour. And while this might have suited those who were liberal with their drink, for those desiring any moderation, it proved far less entertaining.

Demelza hovered at the room’s edge amazed at how people could talk of so little for so long. She’d already excused herself to the toilet more than once, not out of necessity but for alone time, a temporary reprieve from the social pressure. Checking her mobile might have provided further comfort but it was tucked in her coat pocket and she had no idea where her outdoor things had been taken to.

So far, she’d held her own but she wasn’t sure how long it would last. And surprisingly, it wasn’t the Poldarks who had her on her toes tonight. But surely these neighbours  would get bored with her soon enough?

“Ruth, I’m sorry your mother couldn’t join us this evening,” Verity said. Whether she meant it or not no one could tell. Verity always sounded genuinely kind.

“Yes, well she is helping my sister, Faith, set up her new household. She’s only recently married, you know,” Ruth explained.

“And you’re next. How lovely,” Verity replied.

“And expensive,” Aunt Agatha mumbled. 

“My late father was very clear in his will to provide for all his daughters’ weddings,” Ruth said. “And my mother has gotten quite good at planning dazzling events, from the church service to the reception. I do pity families that miss out on such affairs.” She looked into her glass but may as well have pointed an accusing finger at Verity.

“And where are old Joan and Jonathan tonight?” John asked, either oblivious to the cruel intentions in Ruth’s comment or just so used to her digs that they simply no longer registered with him.

“My parents are on a cruise,” Elizabeth explained. “In fact my mother just texted me--they are in between Crete and Ephesus as we speak.” 

“That’s too bad,” John sighed. “They are so much fun at cards, I’d have liked to play later with them. But maybe Ross will do.” Then he perked up and looked across the room. “And of course you too, Demelza. You must play.”

“Elizabeth, tell me how are you fixed for staff?” Ruth asked. It was a loaded question and everyone in the room knew it at once.

“Tonight they’re coming out of the woodwork,” Agatha said. “I don’t know any of these people. And they’re all ignoring me.”

“We are fortunate all year but yes, Agatha is correct. It’s a comfort to have extra assistance when entertaining for the season. Some of our regulars are off with their families but my mother’s housekeeper, Emily Tabb, is here with us this week.”

“My sister, Hope, is having a terrible time. It’s as though any vagrant off the street can show up and claim to be a domestic. No training, no manners, and then wanting to move on to something else. As if they are owed more.”

“Oh?” Demelza cocked her head and smiled bravely, but she knew it was a trap.

“And always thinking they are friends of the family and not merely the help,” Ruth said.

“Perhaps your sister has been unlucky,” Elizabeth said. 

“Or perhaps she’s a shit boss,” Andrea whispered to Demelza.

“Mummy? When are we having presents?” Geoffrey Charles asked, darting into the room and tugging on his mother’s cashmere tunic. By the smear across his mouth, it looked as though he’d been in his Christmas chocolates. No doubt he’d be a handful at bedtime tonight.

“Soon, mon ange,” Elizabeth said. “We need to wait for Uncle Ross.”

“Why is he not here?”

“He’ll be here soon.” Elizabeth gave her son a fragile smile. “We must be patient.”

“When are we having dinner?” he asked next.

It was a fair question. It was already half six and while the adults might be used to dining later in the evening, Geoffrey Charles was not. And Demelza felt great sympathy for the boy. She hadn’t eaten lunch that day and now found herself terrifically hungry. She’d eaten a great many of the elegant hors d'oeuvres the nameless servers had passed around but didn’t think she could stuff anymore in without attracting attention.

She also hoped to get her hands on a cool glass of water but had only been offered wine. She hated to ask Verity, who was so bound to her family that evening and didn't need yet another guest to serve--especially not when there were extra staff hired to do just that.

Perhaps she might slip into the kitchen and find one herself. Demelza didn't require someone to wait upon her nor was she ashamed of having ever been someone’s help. 

“We must also wait for Uncle Ross before we serve,” Elizabeth explained to Geoffrey Charles in her best patient-mummy voice. “But if you’re that hungry, Miss Emily can feed you now in the kitchen…”

“No, I want the big dinner, not a kitchen dinner!” Geoffrey Charles pouted. “It’s not fair! I must come when I’m called, why is Uncle Ross late and no one is cross with him? And he isn't my uncle, he's my cousin, so you’re wrong!”

“Yes, mon cœur, you are correct,” Elizabeth explained, ignoring the first part of his outburst. “But we call him Uncle Ross out of politeness, and respect, because he’s a grown man and you are a little boy.”

“I hate Uncle Ross!” Geoffrey Charles stamped his foot.

“Mon chou,” Elizabeth’s tone remained calm but her face flushed with embarrassment at such a scene. “On ne doit pas dire ça …”

“Elizabeth,” Uncle Charles grumbled and nodded his head. It was a signal to remove the boy from the adult company. 

“Viens, mon fils, let’s see what cakes Miss Emily might find us.” Elizabeth took one of Geoffrey Charles’s balled up fists and managed to steer him away without further meltdown. So in the end, it was not his mother’s sweet French words but the promise of cakes that swayed him.

Just then the doorbell rang and so startled Elizabeth that she dropped her son’s hand and turned anxiously towards the entrance hallway. One of the nameless staff glided in towards the front door, beating Elizabeth to it.

“Uncle Ross!” Geoffrey Charles shouted and ran to hug his legs with an immediate change of heart.

“That’s a warm welcome,” Ross laughed. “Merry Christmas.” His coat was ferried away but before he entered the parlour Demelza, who was closest, stepped out to meet him.

“Is everythin’...?” she whispered eagerly.

“Yes, it’s all officially cleared up and I’m finally unfettered!” 

“Oh Ross!” she gasped. “Thank god!”

Ross grinned happily at her then stopped, stunned, as though it was the first time he’d ever seen her. He grew speechless as his eyes darted up and down her body.

“Demelza,” he said softly, a smile slowly forming in the corners of his mouth.

“Ah Ross, you’re here, we were just talking about you,” John Treneglos shouted out, interrupting the moment.

Ross paused to look Demelza in the eyes one last time and quietly bit his lip containing an even wider grin.

“Oh?” Ross reluctantly turned and entered the overly warm room where the others still sat.

“Of course, Ross. Then again, the whole neighbourhood has been talking about you,” Ruth added.

“Come sit down,” Elizabeth said and ushered Ross to sit in the favoured spot next to Uncle Charles. Without saying a word, Uncle Charles gestured to Verity to pour Ross a drink of the same whisky he and John were drinking.

“I’m sorry I’m so late,” Ross said. “My solicitor had me engaged but that’s all behind me now. Thankfully.”

“Yes, yes, Ross--that was bad business. Glad you made it through, boy,” Charles clapped Ross on the shoulder and seemed sincere. “I don't know what got into Warleggan--took things too far, too far. Well, I think that friendship is done. Right, Elizabeth?”

“Oh yes, of course,” she said. “I’m glad for you, Ross.”

“Engaged? Ross, you’re what?” Aunt Agatha snapped to attention. “Why didn't someone tell me my nephew’s engaged again!”

“Oh no Aunt, Ross isn’t engaged--he was just tied up, busy,” Verity said quickly.

Demelza held her breath, her face blushing a shade of red not unlike her hair colour. Others in the room were equally as shook--perhaps by the simple word again.

Ross looked into his glass then up at Demelza, his quiet glance thanking her for her patience at such an awkward and unexpected development.

“Why is everyone looking at me like that?” Aunt Agatha grumped. “It's what he needs, you know. You’ve all said it at one time or another, so don’t pretend. Nothing like a woman to answer to and some chibbies to look after, to make a man take his head out of his own arse. And don't wait too long, mind you, Ross. I may look young but I can’t wait forever for another wedding. It’s the only time they give me anything decent to drink. Weddings and baptisms--and funerals.”

“Aunt,” Verity said gently and handed her the glass of wine she’d just poured for herself.

“Erm…well…and Christmas,” Aunt Agatha conceded. “Come on, Little Verity, don’t stint. This isn’t even a full glass.”

“Why does she call you Little Verity?” Geoffrey Charles asked. 

“My mum was also called Verity,” she explained. 

“And my mummy is Elizabeth,” the boy said, trying to work out the family tree in his little head.

“Little Verity? Childhood nicknames can be like that,” Andrea laughed. ”They just won’t go away.”

“That’s right, John-John,” Ruth smiled at her fiance, but he did not return the look. His attention was still fixed elsewhere. 

“And tell us, what were you called? Didi? Mellie? Melzie Dee?” John asked.

“No,” Demelza said simply. “Just Demelza.”

“Come Demelza, let’s get you another drink,” Andrea said, coming to her rescue.

“I don’t know…” Demelza hesitated. So far no headache had emerged although further conversation along these lines might certainly bring one on. She also would be driving later; she wished it was sooner.

“Oh please. Agatha is right on this one. The only way to get through a family occasion is for a nice glass of whatever they put in front of you. I for one would like some of Charles Poldark’s single cask but I suspect he guards that. Looks like you have to have a penis to get a pour.”

Demelza looked across at Ross on the sofa holding a cut glass tumbler in his broad hand. 

“Yes, Ross has one,” she said. “I mean..” Then she caught her gaff, bit her lip in embarrassment.

“Indeed he must,” Andrea ribbed.

Notes:

I hadn't intended to recreate and directly quote so many of Ruth’s mean spirited comments but once she opened her mouth, she just wouldn’t stop. All credit to Winston Graham’s Trenwith Christmas scene from Ross Poldark: A Novel of Cornwall and also from Debbie Horsfield’s S1.4 script.

Chapter 99: Veni vidi vici

Ross watched Demelza from his perch on the sofa. How tall she stood, how elegantly she held herself as she skirted the edges of the room, politely answering when spoken to. She wasn’t exactly snubbing the other guests, she just seemed to enter into conversation with Andrea with greater ease. He was amused at how well she was holding up and vowed to voice his reassurance as soon as he had a moment alone with her. But for now, Ross seemed to be remanded to Uncle Charles and Aunt Agatha’s custody, unable to change conversation partners or even to move his seat.

“I thought we’d exchange gifts earlier, perhaps before dinner,” Elizabeth began. “Since Ross has another commitment he must attend later this evening.” Whether intentional or not, she had refrained from using the term engagement.

“Yay!” Geoffrey Charles exclaimed before anyone could object to her proposal.

Demelza took a deep, steadying breath. The evening had thus far been smooth enough and Ross’s arrival had helped her nerves. But the prospect of opening presents and then eating dinner--two more chances to be scrutinised for manners and taste--was not something she looked forward to.

As expected Geoffrey Charles tore into his presents first. To Demelza’s relief, he squealed with delight at the replica Messi jersey and the book of glossy photos from the 2016 Euros.

“Oh look, Mummy! Look Papa!” he cried. “I’m a real footballer!”

“That’s lovely, my dear,” Elizabeth said and nodded her thanks towards Ross. 

But it was Demelza who Ross looked up at. He didn’t try to conceal his smile of appreciation-- after all, Demelza had been the one to make such a spot on selection for the boy.

“Messi…he’s from Argentina, isn’t he? Uncle Charles muttered, apparently unable to let go of any number of perceived transgressions from the 1980s.

“Well Geoffrey Charles, let's have a look in that book for the England squad then,” Verity suggested.

“Or Iceland,” John laughed, which made Uncle Charles grumble again.

“Aunt Agatha, I believe there’s something for you,” Ross said, trying to change the subject. 

“Oh Aunt, isn’t that a lovely pashmina,” Verity said as the old woman unwrapped her gift. “And the colour suits you so well.”

“Somebody here knows my taste,” Aunt Agatha muttered and wrapped the soft blue stole around her neck. It was as close to a genuine thank you as she could give. 

“Is that made from Nampara goats, Ross?” Ruth asked.

“Oh, ours aren’t Angora,” Demelza said. “We raise them for milk, not fibre.” 

“Of course. I should have asked the expert,” Ruth replied.

“Charles, why don’t you unwrap this one?” Elizabeth said. “It’s from…it’s for us.” She paused knowing it wasn’t just from Ross but somehow she was unable to say the words aloud.

Uncle Charles begrudgingly put down his glass and unfolded the pretty paper, tossing aside the flannel bird ornament that had been clipped to the ribbon.

“Yes, well Cornwall. That’s good,” he nodded in approval at the big book of Cornish landscape photographs.

“Ross, it’s simply lovely,” Elizabeth said, taking it from Charles and turning a few of the pages.

“I remembered how you once liked photography, Elizabeth,” Ross answered.

Demelza might have felt the slightest twinge of jealousy in such an exchange had she not been in on a little secret. This book, so fitting Elizabeth’s interests, was in fact a regift--it had originally been given to Ross by Unwin Trevaunance as a thank you for doing business together. She hoped Unwin hadn’t left a card or an inscription inside it.

Next Ross graciously received a silk neck tie in a pattern Demelza had to admit she admired. But she knew how little Ross liked wearing ties so most likely it would end up in his drawer with all his others.

“And this is for you, Demelza,” Elizabeth said, handing over one last parcel.

“Is that all?” Geoffrey Charles demanded. ”Don’t I get more?’

“Oh of course, but you’ll get those in the morning. From Mummy and Papa, and Aunt Verity, and Santa Claus. You must be patient, mon cœur.”

“Thank you, this is so lovely, almost too pretty to write in. But very handy--I will no doubt use it every day,” Demelza said of her gift. It was a diary, bound in butter soft leather.

“But your book is blank,” Geoffrey Charles said, confused. “There isn’t even a story in it.”

“Useful? How’s that then? What is it that you do, bud?” Aunt Agatha asked Demelza. “I mean besides working on Ross’s farm,” she added before Ruth could open her mouth.

“Oh well I’m…a student,” Demelza stammered.

“Demelza is going to be a veterinarian,” Ross said proudly. 

Demelza was grateful for the vote of confidence but wished Ross hadn’t counted her chickens before they’d hatched. At least not aloud in front of these folks.

“A vet? And stick that beautiful hand up some cow’s arse?” John laughed.

“But then again, don’t you already do that?” Ruth had gotten her dig in after all. “On the farm, I mean.”

“Oh yes, but not just cows, I’m afraid,” Demelza smiled wickedly. 

Ross tried his best to contain a laugh. He might have known Demelza would be on her mettle tonight but he’d never suspected she’d be so charming or so witty. He looked at her again, his face betraying his admiration--and his love.

---

Ross came up behind Demelza at the dinner buffet and ever so lightly put his fingertips to her elbow as she put a single slice of ham on her plate.

“No boar's head tonight? What kind of establishment is this?” he whispered then smiled devilishly when she snorted back a laugh. He’d finally managed to catch her alone; the others had already been served.

“Ross,” Demelza said softly, and hit him on the chest with the back of her hand. “Behave. You’ll make me drop my plate.”

“Allow me,” he said and took her plate from her. “I’ll hold them both and you serve. But don’t stint on mine Little Bud,” he teased doing his best impersonation of Aunt Agatha.

“Oh is that what I’m to be now?” she turned to ask.

“Would you prefer Little Demelza?” he countered, knowing it would cause her to laugh again.

“Stop,” she pleaded. Her eyes were watering but since her hands were full, she could do nothing about it. “Just stop, or… I won’t feed you!”

“You wouldn’t dare,” he challenged, looking at her most solemnly. Then he pulled a silly face, raising and lowering his brows. 

As he’d hoped, Demelza laughed again but then she stopped suddenly and looked down at the two plates she was holding. Ross turned to see Elizabeth had come up behind them. How much of their playful transaction had she witnessed, he couldn't guess. But the expression on her face said volumes.

It was now clear to Elizabeth what she had only suspected before: Ross and Demelza were together, a couple--a happy one--and had been for some time.

“Mrs. Poldark? Shall we still bring out the roast duck?” one of the hired staff approached to ask Elizabeth, calling her attention away from her guests.

“Yes, yes please,” Elizabeth answered although the other dishes were far from having been devoured. “Let me show which platter…” Elizabeth hadn’t finished her sentence, but as she moved toward the kitchen to give more exacting instructions, she once again resumed her firm poise.

--

At last it was time to leave. Dinner had been savoured, presents had been appreciated, families reconnected, and the conversation, while still ostensibly pleasant, was running on fumes. It helped that Ross had a work obligation to attend--everyone understood that sort of responsibility. 

Elizabeth looked crestfallen but said nothing. Uncle Charles nodded. There was an unspoken assumption that a successful man might have to put his business concerns before his family--even on Christmas Eve.

“It was a lovely evenin’,” Demelza said to all the guests in the parlour. “Thank you for the invitation.” She sounded sincere and gracious, and not at all mocking the manners of her hostess.

Aunt Agatha grabbed her hand before she left and spoke in a voice meant to be a whisper but loud enough for all to hear.

“You be sure to come back again, Little Bud,” she said and wrapped her new pashmina around her neck tightly. “You, I like.”

“Yes, Ma’am,” Demelza smiled. It was a small triumph but one to relish nonetheless.

“You should join us, come to the Carnmore party,” Ross said quietly to Andrea once they were in the entrance hallway. One of the nameless women brought him his coat then left to fetch Demelza’s.

“Ah believe me, Ross I'd love to but…this evening is important to Ver, and if she needs to be here, then I need to be here for her,” Andrea explained.

“Of course,” Ross nodded solemnly. He both understood and took it as a call to do better in his own relationship. To be there when Demelza needed him--even when she didn't say it. “But before you go back home you should come see us at Nampara,” he added. “Maybe spend a night with us.”

“Erm…I’ll see if that works with Ver’s plans. But yes, that sounds nice,” Andrea stammered awkwardly as Demelza came into the hallway after finally taking her leave of Agatha.

Demelza bit her lip and tried to contain a smile. She’d already invited Andrea and Verity--as well as Dwight, Tonkin, and Mrs. Carter--to Nampara on the 29th to celebrate Ross’s birthday. It wasn’t a surprise exactly, only Demelza hadn't told Ross just yet.

“You ready to go?” Ross asked Demelza, helping her with her coat.

“Must we so soon?” she replied with an impish wink.

---

The two parties could not have been any more dissimilar. While the Elizabeth’s playlist had featured subdued carols, mostly performed on harp and flute, Tonkin had chosen a swinging big band soundtrack of joyous horns and thundering drums that demanded dancing. And from the looks of things, most of the guests were obliging.

A makeshift dance floor had been established in the brewery away from the massive fermentation tanks. At the opposite wall, well-laid tables of food had been set up. There were no hired staff for this do--everyone was meant to fend for themselves.

Ross gave Demelza’s hand a squeeze as they entered the great room and she in return offered him her brightest smile. It was hard to hear over the music, and over the laughter, but their hearts swelled at such a scene. 

“Ah Poldark,” Tonkin cheered, walking towards them. He wore a purple paper crown from a Christmas cracker and a smile the size of Truro. “Late as usual.”

“I'm hardly late,” Ross teased. “And I’m here just in time to save your party.”

“Yes, that’s what you, don’t you Ross? Save my skin?” Tonkin gave Ross a hug of genuine appreciation. 

Just then the music paused and to fill the void, the happy crowd started chanting their own song.

 

      Then let us all most merry be,

      Since that we are come here,

      And we do hope before we part

      To taste some of your beer. 

 

      Your beer, your beer, your Christmas beer,

      That seems to be so strong,

      And we do wish that Christmas tide

      Was twenty times so long.

 

“Well, you heard them,” Tonkin said. “Let me get you a pint, Ross, and you too, Miss Carne,” he turned to Demelza with a smile and a bow.

“How kind,” she began. Of course no one would question her age, especially not tonight when she looked so put together, so polished in that black crepe dress. She could easily pass for a woman in her mid-twenties or even older still. Though later, if someone learned she’d been underage, they could make trouble for the brewery. “But no thanks. I’m drivin’ Ross tonight.”

“Oh that’s not the real reason,” Ross said and for a moment Demelza panicked. What was he going to say next? “Demelza doesn’t like to admit it but…she doesn’t like ale,” he said in a stage whisper.

At this Tonkin roared with laughter.

“Maybe it’s just your ale she doesn’t like, Poldark,” Tonkin baited Ross then left to go man the taps.  

“What? Is that true, Demelza?” Ross looked offended but his eyes sparked playfully.

“I assure you,” she smiled. “I like everythin’ you’re servin’, Ross.” She stared back with wide devilish eyes and licked her lips for emphasis.

“You keep behaving like that and we’ll go home right this minute,” he growled mischievously.

“Is that a promise?” she laughed. 

Once again the speakers fired up and the bass shook the floor. 

“Come, dance with me,” Ross shouted. 

But before he heard her response she was already halfway to the dance floor.

Notes:

In Ross Poldark: A Novel of Cornwall, Demelza gets amusingly feisty with Ruth at Christmas, so I am indebted to WG for that inspiration. Also, in those chapters, Ross wonders if in displaying “good manners” (ie not eating much at dinner) Demelza is mocking Elizabeth. I played with that idea here too.

I was delighted to find the beer verses when looking up the lyrics to the carol “God Bless The Master Of This House.” You may remember the Poldarks singing the first verse of that song (not the end verses) in S.3.4.

Read all the lyrics here: https://www.hymnsandcarolsofchristmas.com/Hymns_and_Carols/god_bless_the_master_of_this_hou.htm

And in case you're wondering, while at Trenwith, Ross and Demelza gave Verity and Andrea a lovely paella pan and a little jar of real saffron but the rest of the gifts the two couples exchanged later, in private. Verity and Andrea also got matching spa robes--and a voucher to Aromathai Spa in Manchester for a couples massage. In return, Ross and Demelza were given theatre tickets to see Junkyard at the Bristol Old Vic, as well as reservations for a sunset cruise around Porthcothan Bay on a historic schooner--to be redeemed once spring had arrived. I just didn't want that Christmas scene to go on forever, so that part got cut.

Chapter 100: Love Commands

Demelza safely parked Ross’s truck in the Nampara drive just a little after eleven. They were both exhausted from all that had transpired that day but still giddy from the joyous party at the brewery. Once inside the quiet house, the sound of their shoes on the flagstone seemed extra loud and when they tried to tip toe, it only made them giggle more. 

“Thank you, Demelza,” Ross said as she hung his car keys on the hook by the front door. “You make an excellent driver. You might want to consider that for a side gig,” he teased.

“And you, Ross, make an excellent drunk,” she laughed. “But I must doubt there’s much future in that for you.”

“Well now that we’re home, can I get you something to catch you up?” He kissed her hand then pulled her in for a longer kiss on the mouth.

When they finally pulled apart, she raised her brow and offered her signature playful smile.

“Oh? Somethin’? Just what did you have in mind?” 

“I meant something strong and intoxicating.”

“And are you not both of those?” she laughed. “No, I’ll just have some water.” She bent to unbuckle her shoes then decided it might feel good to sit down in the parlour.

Ross returned to her a minute later with a glass and a packet of paracetamol.

“I saw your eye twitching and thought it might be a headache coming on,” he explained.

“Really? It did that?” she asked, tucking her legs under her on the sofa. “Thank you. And I will admit, the quiet feels nice.”

“Is the headache from the music?”

“Oh no,” she said quickly. “That was so much fun--I hardly get a chance to dance, and almost never with you. Besides, I never actually said it was a headache.”

He looked at her with narrowed eyes until she sighed in agreement.

“Is it related to your period?” he asked.

“Seems so,” she admitted. “Menstrual migraines they’re called. Prudie thinks changin’ my birth control pill might sort it.”

“You talked with Prudie about it but didn’t tell me?” he laughed lightly and sat down beside her..

“I didn't talk with her,” she objected. “You know Prudie. She decides what she wants to talk about even if you’ve declared a subject off limits.”

“Especially if you declare it off limits,” he said and rubbed her arm gently. “Come let’s get you to bed then.”

“Oh Ross. Let's just stay up a bit longer? It’s almost midnight.”

“Hmm…such a conundrum for your loyal servant. I should object and insist you get your much needed rest, but if staying up makes you happy, then mustn’t I oblige?” he said. “Are you warm enough?” he asked attentively.

“Yes.”

“Even so, do you want a fire?” 

“No.”

“Have I told you how utterly stunning you are tonight?”

“No…”

“That dress…”

“You like it?” she asked.

“I love it. All of it. Especially the person inside it.” 

He kissed her and gently stroked the plaid trim around the keyhole neckline. She put her fingers to his face and he covered her hand with his. 

“Wait,” he said, suddenly struck with inspiration. 

He leapt to his feet and disappeared into the dark hallway where he’d left his coat. After only a minute he returned with a boyish grin on his face.

“I was going to wait until tomorrow to give this to you but somehow…” He had one hand behind his back, concealing what it was that he held.

“Are you worried we won't have a tomorrow?” she teased.

“No, I just want you to have it now. I’ve put you through so much today. In fact, I wish you’d had it earlier, to have worn tonight.”

“Oh?”

He sat beside her again and placed a small square box in her hand. She turned it over a few times, inspecting it carefully, then looked at him again. 

“It's not a bomb,” he laughed.

If Demelza suspected the shop assistant was responsible for the elegant wrapping job and not Ross, she didn't let on. Finally she untied the ribbon, unfolded the paper, and lifted the lid.

“But Ross? Where did you get this?” She managed to gasp, then grew silent again. It was the white gold bracelet she’d tried on at Permewan jewellers the day she bought Jinny’s locket. 

“In Truro but I think you already know that,” he smiled and took her hand in his. “The shop assistant recalled a striking ginger who had really admired it only the week before.”

“I can’t be the only ginger in Truro,” she whispered but didn't seem to have enough in her to joke further.

Ross took the bracelet from its tissue nest and gently slid it over Demelza’s slim wrist. She closed her eyes and held her breath.

“Demelza?” he said softly and put his forehead to hers until she exhaled. With soft yet vulnerable eyes, she looked at him then down at the gift she now wore with pride.

“Do you know what it says?” She traced the engraving lovingly: Quidquid Amor Jussit, Non Est Contemnere Tutum.

“Yes, the shop assistant and I looked it up. I wanted to be sure it didn't say To Gran with love on your 97th,” he smiled. “It translates to Whatever Love Commands, It Is Not Safe to Contempt. A bit awkward--but I think you get the gist. And it sounded rather familiar to me…”

She turned away and used one finger to wipe away the tear that was just forming at the corner of her eye. The bracelet slid down her arm just a little and she stopped to push it back in place, then admired it again.

 “Oh Ross, I know it’s only an inscription but…” She bit her lip.

"Demelza, look at me,” he said. “It’s not just words. I love you and…I love our love.”

“I know Ross…” she whispered. “I know. And I love you too.”

They stayed that way for what felt like hours, cuddled together on the sofa, quiet and alone together. A soft peace that felt like a gift in itself. Finally the clock struck twelve and they climbed the stairs to go to bed.

But once they were tucked under the duvet, Demelza, who had been so sleepy and subdued earlier, seemed to get a second wind. Ross had just switched off his light when Demelza turned hers back on and sat up in bed.

“So tell me, Ross, if that bracelet was my prize for having weathered your two parties, how did I do tonight?”

“My parties?”

“Tell me, was I monstrous?”

“As expected, you came through with high marks of course,” Ross laughed. “Tonkin already adored you but now he thinks you hung the moon.”

“And the others?” she asked.

“With them? You were monstrously triumphant. But tell me, how’d you learn to be such a good flirt?”

“I’m that good? I had no idea…” she gasped.

“Don’t take my word for it, ask John Treneglos. Or Ruth.”

“I don't know Ross,” she said. “It must be your doin’-- I never had the urge to be sexy until I met you--and I swear I wasn’t tryin’ tonight. I didn’t even know I was flirtin’ with old John-John, just tryin’ to give back at him what he gave me. Does it make you unhappy?”

“Of course not. It’s nice if one’s partner is desired by others…But no one wants their partner to be one that others actually get,” he smiled. It was the same thought that had gripped him whilst watching her dance back in Manchester.

“Your partner?” Demelza raised a brow. “Is that what Ruth Teague thinks I am to you?”

“Yes, Demelza. Let’s face it--we fooled no one. Everyone at Trenwith Road and at Carnmore either already knew we were together or had jumped to their own conclusions months ago regardless of how we behaved tonight or what we said.”

“I suppose that’s so…” she said solemnly.

“Of course now you’ve provided John Treneglos a convenient visual when he imagines us together,” Ross kissed her fingers then playfully folded them into a fist. 

“You think he imagines us?” she sputtered. “You mean together--that way?”

“Well at least he imagines you--or will be from now on,” Ross laughed. “And I think you must have liked the man well enough to spar such as you did.”

“Maybe we should swap then,” Demelza teased back. “Did Ruth’s sharp tongue turn you on? We already know what she thinks of your goats--I’m curious what she’d have to say about your cock.”

“Hold on--I thought you didn't like the word cock?” he chuckled.

“It doesn't matter what I call it, Ruth will still like it just fine." Somehow Demelza succeeded in keeping a straight face throughout this exchange, which tormented Ross even more. The bed shook as he tried to contain his laughter.

“And do you like it?” he managed to say.

“I could learn to. And you’ve always said I was a quick learner.”

“Are you sure you aren’t tipsy?” he asked.

“Ross, with others knowin’ about us, do you think that will mean trouble?” she asked with a sigh. This time she was serious.

“I doubt it,” Ross said. “The law says you are old enough to know your own mind and the only person who could really make it difficult for us is your father.”

“Who has long since given up on me,” Demelza huffed. “Still I suppose I should be grateful his attention is elsewhere. But tell me, Ross, could this harm your business reputation?”

“Again I doubt it. In our daily lives we largely keep ourselves to ourselves. It's not like I’m some sort of Bill Gates or Jeff Bezos, moguls whose personal lives are on display as part of their brand. Besides, you said it yourself. In the end, if there’s love, then it’s not for anyone to look down upon that.”

“Sounds better in Latin,” she said.

“I disagree. I think they are brilliant words that came from a brilliant mind--and a warm heart. Now come, switch off the light, my love. Time to go to sleep.”

Notes:

“Whatsoever Love hath ordained it is not fit to despise'' is the way Graham translated it, but I decided to see what our shop clerk might get if put through a Latin translator, and came up with “Whatever Love Commands, It Is Not Safe to Contempt.” Far less poetic, though in a way, I sort of like it better--the word “despise” always threw me a bit.

Demelza teasing that Ross is worried that they won't have a tomorrow is a play off his words at the end of their reconciliation scene in Warleggan.

Ross’s assessment of Demelza as both “monstrous” and as “a triumph” after the first visit to Trenwith, his teasing her with the name “Little Bud”, and his questioning whether she is tipsy are all from Ross Poldark: A Novel of Cornwall.

And once again I played with this quote from The Four Swans: “No man wants his woman to be one that other men don't desire....But every man wants his woman to be one that other men don't get.”

Finally the lines “Do you like me?/ I could learn to..” and “You’re a quick learner” are from Horsfield’s S1.4 script and are played with here (a bit naughtily). Also, for those of you who have not read the novels, the ridiculous idea of Treneglos-Poldark partner swap is not mine! It is teasingly referred to in one of the later books (The Stranger from the Sea or maybe Miller’s Dance?) as something John had actually proposed.

Chapter 101: Today and Tomorrow

“Ross?” Demelza muttered, her lids fluttering as she struggled to open them.

“Go back to sleep my love,” Ross said softly and rubbed her back. They hadn’t thought to pull the curtains before they went to bed and morning light, muted by the mist collected on the panes overnight, was creeping into the room. 

“Is it still rainin’?” she asked drowsily.

“Yes but it must have warmed up in the night, just a bit, so nothing’s slick anymore. You have no obligations today, Demelza. Go back to sleep.” 

She closed her eyes and snuggled down against her pillow as ordered. Ross watched her as she inhaled and exhaled rhythmically, a slight smile forming on her face. 

Before he rose to attend the morning chores, he paused to feel the almost tangible quiet in the room. It was a sanctuary, a place of ease and comfort that they’d created in their months together.

She is content. And because of that, so am I, he thought, not for the first time.

--

Ross was just finishing a nearly perfect spinach omelette when Demelza came into the kitchen, her hair tousled but her eyes looking far brighter than they had the day before. Hopefully the extra sleep had helped her head.

“What’s this then?” she smiled. “Such service!”

“Merry Christmas, my love, now sit down and I’ll get your tea,” he said. “Looking at that sky, we may just have some snow later.”

“For Christmas,” she said with a satisfied sigh.

“You'd like that wouldn't you?” He said, then put a plate in front of her.

“Only if we don't have to drive anywhere,” she laughed and took a bite of toast. “I don't want a repeat of last year.”

“I thought we made a festive pair!” He sat down next to her and took a bite of his own omelette. It wasn't nearly as good as one of Demelza’s but wasn’t a shabby attempt at all.

“Don’t tell me you forgot your little accident or how you needed to go to A & E?” She looked at him over her steaming mug.

“You forget that in the end I didn't need to--you took care of me. Besides, the snow didn't cause that skid out--that was ice.” 

“But it wasn't that bad, Ross. we did make the most of it, didn’t we?” she smiled. “That was really a year ago? So much has happened.” Then she sighed again, this time more plaintively, and wiped her eye.

“Are you thinking about Jim?” Ross put down his coffee cup and asked.

“Jim and Jinny both.”

“Would you go back in time and do things differently?” He leaned back in his chair, curious to hear her thoughts.

“Not too much,” she said. “I don’t think it's our place to change other folk’s lives, no matter how much we might want to. What's done is done. I suppose I might have warned some folks not to be idiots--Jim especially--and I know I would savour some moments more, but no great changes.”

“Last Christmas was the first time we shared a bed,” he reminded her.

“And the first time I heard you snore,” she quipped. Clearly, she was awake now.

“And the first time I realised how much you steal the covers.” He pulled a face to show his best mock outrage.

“You were out so cold that you wouldn't have noticed that!” she laughed. “Well now you don't mind it so much. You have other ways of stayin’ warm when I’m around.” She smiled a coy smile and drank the rest of her tea. “You know Ross, I’ve been thinkin’...”

“Yes?”

“We should have just properly slept together that night.”

“You were only 16. Need I remind you?” he said with a raised brow.

“Oh? Like those three and half months matter so much?”

“In the eyes of the law they do…and yes, they do to me as well.”

“I actually didn't mean we should have had sex, but we should cuddled up together under the covers,” she explained. “Friends do that, you know.”

“They do?”

“Well maybe it's a girl thing. Why do men get freaked out every time they share a bed with someone else?”

“Let’s just say in my conscious mind you were first and foremost my friend. But in my unconscious mind…”

“I was just a sexy body?”

“Not just but maybe yes…” 

“Well like I said, from what I recall, your conscious mind wasn’t really doin’ much work that night,” she laughed. 

And yet--had they not spoken vows of companionship and loyalty that night, and in their gestures, in their company, demonstrated what love looks like? How love acts?

“You know, Demelza, first and foremost you are still my friend. The very truest I have ever known.”

“Is that your way of sayin’ you don’t find my body so sexy now?”

“Do I really need to prove to you how I admire your body?”

“Well, maybe not,“ she admitted.  

---

The late December sky that stretched as far as the horizon was still grey but less metallic and softer, like wool. And heavy. Whatever the clouds carried that afternoon--rain or snow--would at some point be released. 

Demelza cuddled under a blanket on the sofa, Garrick at her feet. Her gaze alternated between the lit Christmas tree and the crackling blaze in the hearth. 

So far it had been a perfect day.

Ross raked the ashes carefully so as not to soil his new blue jumper. Demelza had been of two minds about him wearing it today. She worried it might get dirty from even the lightest of chores but also felt it was appropriate to dress for a holiday. He thought it a touching gift, and had to admit, she’d grown to have excellent taste.

“Care to go for a Christmas swim?” Ross asked playfully and joined her on the sofa.

“In the...sea?! Ross, you say that to torment me!” Demelza brushed him away and shivered at the thought.

“No, I say that to invite you. Loads of people swim in the sea this time of year. My father used to swear by it.” He took her feet in his lap and gave them a gentle rub.

“And look where it got him…” She raised a brow. She still didn’t believe he was serious.

“Good point,” he laughed. “But it's good for headaches.”

“You just made that up.”

“Yes I did.”

At that she sat up and shifted her body, snuggling against Ross’s chest. Garrick was not pleased at being so displaced and after several indignant sighs, moved to lie in front of the fire.

“Have you recently? I mean, I’ve never known you to swim in the winter, Ross,” Demelza asked.

“I did last Christmas.” He had almost forgotten that. It hadn’t been a very satisfying endeavour--even less so when he returned home and remembered he had no spirits left in his cabinet to warm him.

“Last Christmas? But I was with you…”

“No, it was after you left, before I went to Trenwith Road,” he explained but didn’t say more.

“I didn’t know.”

“I didn't tell you.”

“Oh?” she asked softly and looked up at him.

“I suppose I had some demons to exorcise…” he mused.

“At least you didn't say exercise. I’d say your demons are fit enough without you putting them through their paces,” she teased.

“Such wit, Little Bud,” he chuckled. “No wonder Aunt Agatha was so taken by you last night!”

“Just imagine my wit if I’d had more wine,” she laughed. “Ross, I’ve been wonderin’...”

“Yes?” he smiled and took one of her curls between his fingers

“Well, last night over and over your uncle offered you his fine whisky and yet you only nursed the one glass?” she asked. “I was drivin’ so why did you not have more?”

“You are observant,” he said. “No, I did not. There are only two reasons to drink whisky, Demelza--no three. One is if the whisky is an exceptional find and must be tried. My uncle thinks he’s a connoisseur but he really only spends a lot of money but still has little taste. The second reason is, of course, to enjoy the whisky but also to enjoy the company you are with. And I did not enjoy my company last night…”

“You did not?” she repeated.

“Well not all my company.”

“It was nice to see Verity and Andrea again.”

“Yes, yes but I would still prefer to have been alone with you.”

“And the third reason?” she asked.

“The third reason is to numb yourself to the pain around you--but if that’s your aim then I recommend you don't drink an expensive single cask. But Demelza, I do not want to be numbed--ever again. I want to feel every moment I am with you, for you make me feel alive. I love you and I know you love me. Why would I ever want to numb myself to that reality?”

“Ross.” It was all she could say. Her whole chest was filled--with love, with hope, with desire--and had his arms not been wrapped around her, it was possible she might have floated away. 

“So tell me, are you ready?” Ross kissed her on the forehead to punctuate the moment then releasing her from his embrace, rose to his feet. 

“For a swim? You can’t be serious!” she called after him as he left the room. 

But when he came back he had a bottle of brandy in his hand.

“Ross?” she laughed. “I thought you just said that bein’ alive felt better than drinkin’?”

“Oh but this isn’t for drinking, Little Bud. Let’s light your beloved pudding then we’ll go for a walk down to the sea, no swimming just gazing. Would that suit you?”

“Oh yes!” She leapt up at once to fetch the pudding. 

When she returned, carrying the artfully arranged platter of the fragrant pudding and its holly garnish, her eyes gleamed with pride but also excitement. 

Ross had gathered two fine glasses from the dining room cupboard--ones that hadn't been used in some time, perhaps not since the previous Christmas. 

“Have you the matches? And should I get the fire extinguisher?” she laughed.

“Demelza, that is simply an amazing Christmas pudding,” he said, admiring her work. “But I shouldn’t be surprised.”

“Well, it might look pretty--better than last year’s anyway--but we’ll have to see how it tastes.” Demelza was trying to be humble but was unable to hide how happy she was that the results of her project had pleased him. 

“First a toast,“ Ross said and poured them each a glass. He watched as she took hers in hand. He could see the wheels of her mind turning--she was thinking something through.

“What was it that we toasted last year, Ross?” she asked. “It’s only fittin’ we say the same words.”

“Was that before or after I burnt the kitchen down?”

“Almost burnt the kitchen down,” she smiled. “To Christmas? To friends?”

“No, this year we need something new. How about to us?” he proposed, raising his glass.

“Yes,” she said softly. “To us.” She took a sip and looked up at him.

“And to today and to tomorrow,” he added.

“Today and tomorrow,” she repeated and together they finished their glasses.

Ross pulled her close and kissed her brandy flavoured lips. And as he held her in his arms, he knew it to be true. This--him and her together--was their today. 

And would also be their tomorrow.

Chapter 102: Epilogue

September 2017

Ross leaned forward to peer out the windscreen then reluctantly switched on the wipers. What had started as just a mist, had turned into genuine raindrops. 

It was looking like it might be a rather wet autumn. Most of this year’s hops had already been harvested so Ross wasn’t too worried about rot, but today’s rain wasn’t helping anyone’s mood.

Demelza sat beside him in the truck, biting her lip, running through any number of lists in her head. She’d been making plans for weeks now--years really--and today they were coming to fruition. In two hours and thirty-five minutes, she'd officially be away at uni.

Once Demelza had learned her exam results and was offered her place at University of Bristol, everything happened at warp speed. And there had been so much to do. The previous weekend she’d moved her things into a flat that she’d be sharing with two others. It was quite pleasant by student standards and was already furnished. As a result of that stroke of luck, she’d insisted that she take only the necessities with her--clothes, laptop and books. All her other possessions were still strewn about her room in the North Barn and the upstairs bedroom at Nampara, where they’d continue to wait for her until whenever she came back. 

Before classes started, and before freshers week, Demelza still had a bit of time, so rather than stay in Bristol, she spent those last few days of freedom in her beloved Cornwall. She walked along the sea and meadows, lost in contemplation, but mostly she worked hard--in the barns, in the hop yard, and in the house, scrubbing and cooking and baking up a storm. Perhaps she was aware of the void she’d be leaving and wanted to lessen that blow.

But it wasn’t Demelza the farmhand or the household help that would be missed. And they all knew it.

“You can come back anytime,” Prudie had told her, between muffled sobs. “For the odd weekend, you know. And ring us every day.”

“Maybe just texts the first few weeks,” Demelza said. “I think hearin’ your voice would break my resolve and I’d be runnin’ back on the first bus.” Demelza laughed when she spoke but she was looking at Ross, her eyes unable to hide her own sadness. 

Such a change. When Demelza had first come into their lives, she was not one who looked far ahead or reasoned deep; the circumstances of her life had given her no excuse to do either. Her instinct, borne of survival, had been to accept things for what they were, and for as long as they lasted. Oh, but this was no longer the case. Grown Demelza wasn’t afraid to gaze into the future, to pursue her own desires. And now, in laying claim to things that made her happy, she would also mourn their loss. 

But as difficult as this was, they all understood what an opportunity this was for her--an honour really. And after dealing her shit hand after shit hand for years, the fates had changed their tune and finally, Demelza Carne was getting something she deserved.

Ross saw that and was committed to giving her the space she needed to settle into her new life. A life that, at least for the next few years, would be hers alone. He had responsibilities with Carnmore and Nampara Hops and couldn’t follow her, and even if he could, that wouldn’t be the right thing. They both agreed. But they’d still stay together and they’d still love each other--a distance of 170 miles wouldn’t change that. And Demelza had made Ross promise that he’d visit within that first month.

Yes, Demelza had worked so hard for this moment--they both had--and now that it had come, it just felt all wrong. She’d be gone and Nampara wouldn’t feel the same. 

“Hopefully I’ll be too busy to be homesick,” she said softly, wiping the fogged up passenger window with her sleeve. 

Home. Yes, Nampara had been her haven since she first arrived six years earlier. But they’d made it their home together this last year.

“Well, don’t work too hard.” Ross was trying to be encouraging when inside he felt he was freefalling off a cliff. “You have to take some time for fun. You know, go for an occasional coffee,” he said.

“I don’t like coffee,” she said triumphantly, as if that fact would deflate his whole argument and necessitate him turning the truck around. 

He knew what she was doing. She was afraid that if she showed excitement, he’d be hurt.

“Tea then, or go get a pint--I mean a glass of wine or a shot of vodka or whatever while your mates have a pint,” he said. “It’s an important part of the student experience, you know.”

“What if I don't have any mates?“ she volleyed.

“Demelza, you make friends wherever you go. Especially with difficult people,” he laughed.

“Like you?” she teased.

“But you’ll make loads of friends before you know it. That’s who you are. And isn’t that what freshers week is all about?”

She snorted in derision but he knew she’d find some of the events fun. She loved excitement and music and even people, despite her claims to the contrary. 

“Besides, your flatmates, Caroline and Hugh, already adore you.” 

This was no exaggeration and it relieved Ross to know Demelza would be in good hands. Caroline had proven her loyalty more than once, and Hugh Armitage, a fellow Demelza had only just met but who’d been sharing a flat with Caroline for some time, seemed like a stand up guy. He was at least polite and clean if not boring--he was rather serious about the degree in literature he was pursuing. 

“Caroline and Hugh are my flatmates not friends,” Demelza said simply.

“Nonsense. You’ve known Caroline for ages and the reason she’s asked you to share her flat is because you’re already friends.” She was also giving Demelza an amazing deal on the rent but neither of them spoke of that now.

“Well…” Demelza sighed. “Speakin’ of friends, you’ll look in on Jinny?”

“Of course.”

“And you’ll give Garrick lots of attention? Like, talk to him?” she asked. “He thinks the world of you, Ross, and me bein’ gone so much all of a sudden, might break his heart.”

“I’ll read to him every night and let him sleep in our bed,” Ross teased.

“Okay,” she said and gave a weak smile of defeat. 

They drove on silently, the wipers squeaking on the windscreen, the rain splattering the bonnet, just as they had so many times before.

Before they hit the A30, Ross glanced over again. Demelza was leaning against the window, her eyes closed. He knew she wasn’t sleeping, perhaps she was blinking back tears, or just trying to hold on the final minutes they had left together.

At least that’s what Ross was feeling.

He was thinking of that day, years ago, when he’d picked her up along a similar wet road. Yes, she’d changed beyond recognition, but he had too. Curiously, he seemed to have grown younger in her presence. At least he was more awake and observant of the world around him. Open to hope, open to love. What he had given her--food, shelter, space to wander in her own thoughts--anyone could have offered. But her gift to him--a new outlook on the world and on the very meaning of life--was an inconceivable treasure.

I owe so much to her, he thought. And I’ll need to fight everyday without her to remain the same loving and reliable person she’s demanded I be. 

“Do you want me to put on some music or shall I sing to you?” she said suddenly. It would have been just like her to make an appropriately heart-rending playlist for such a drive.

“Sing, please,” he smiled.

“Thought of you as my mountain top, thought of you as my peak, thought of you as my everythin'…” she started then began to hum instead. Perhaps she had forgotten the rest of the lyrics.

Yes, she’s that to me, he thought. My everything. Without her I’ll only ever be half alive.

Notes:

I lifted this little bit from Ross Poldark, A Novel of Cornwall, using it mostly as is: “She was not a child who looked far ahead or reasoned deep; the ways of her life had given her no excuse to do either. . . .her instinct had been to accept it for what it was, and as long as it lasted, glad enough but as philosophically as she had taken the fight at the fair...”

I also played with this passage from Jeremy Poldark but put the thoughts in Ross’ mind instead of Demelza’s.

“She was thinking of Ross as she had seen him for the first time, that day years ago at Redruth Fair. To her it seemed a century — yet though she had grown older, changed beyond recognition or imagining, he had become curiously younger to her while remaining in essence the same. He was a man of moods, yet he was her constant, something unchanging, infinitely reliable, the pivot of her life. There could never be anyone else. Without him she would not be more than half alive.”

I used this in an earlier chapter but thought it worked well here again.
Pale Blue Eyes lyrics © Sony/ATV Music Publishing (Songwriter: Lou Reed). In case you're curious, the next line that Demelza “couldn’t remember” was “Thought of you as everything I've had, but couldn't keep.”
---

And so, here we are, four years and 252216 words later, at the end of this tale. Or is it? Am I working on a sequel? Perhaps…

I’m always happy to answer questions (Such as, why did I set this back in 2013-17?) or just talk about these two, either here or on tumblr (there I’m known as nervousladytraveler).

I had planned a really long closing note to all the readers who stuck with this story for years (my document history says I started writing this in April 2018 but I didn't post to AO3 until 2019--that's a long time) and to the readers who just came to it recently. It was going to be my chance to run through all the things I learned while writing it and things I would change if I had a chance to do it over, to explain the big pauses in between chapters (life, covid, multiple other fics in progress).

But now that's it over, all I really want to say is THANK YOU!!

Notes:

As always I'm grateful to Winston Graham and Debbie Horsfield for their inspiring Poldark creations. These characters, relationship dynamics, setting, even bits of dialogue are theirs. Thanks for letting me play with them!

I'm @nervousladytraveler over on tumblr if you want to talk more.