Spring 1791 Follows S2E3
But it would not be two days after the Tehidy party that Jemima Withering would start back at Wheal Leisure. For one thing, her father wished to speak to George Warleggan because, whether or not Jemima planned to tell her father about Ross Poldark's violent behaviour towards her, he had found out anyway.
"Other than that, did you enjoy your evening?"
"I enjoyed my evening," Jemima told him, at luncheon the day afterwards. John Withering looked brighter, less sunken back and more relaxed than he had done the night before. "Mr. Warleggan danced with me several times and I with Humphry and Dick, and I spoke to Miss Frances about mining."
"Oh? Sir Francis's daughter likes mines?".
"She has business sense," Jemima replied, "She knows how to make a mine make profit. She is very lucky that Sir Francis has allowed her the chance to."
"And Warleggan?" her father asked, shrewdly, lowering his fork.
"He too wishes to make a profit, and there is profit to be made," Jemima replied. "You know what I told Leisure's shareholders, what the other miners confirmed. We were all for digging it except Captain Poldark had disagreed. And now the mine does not belong to him, in the majority. I wonder whether that is why he was so angry."
Her father nodded, and continued with his meat and bread. "As long as you see the measure of it, I have no reason to suppose you not work there. But I would have you without the presence of Captain Poldark. I will seek reassurances from George Warleggan that he is not to be near you, should he be at Leisure. For her owns a few shares still, does he not? Like Captain Henshawe?"
"It is possible he may be there," Jemima conceded, pushing the thoughts of William Henshawe out of her mind. "But I certainly will not choose to be in his company. Mr. Warleggan assured me of this when he made the offer."
"Then he can assure me, when I see him." After he had shown Humphry his checkup rounds and Jemima had gone to speak to Sir Francis about leaving the Ting Tongs.
"I will give you my decision this evening, my daughter," John Withering told her. "I will not stop you working for Mr. Warleggan, for I know it is something you wish to do, to solve your mystery, but I will be speaking to Poldark. He cannot do this, not to you. And I wish for assurances that you will be safe at Leisure with Mr. Warleggan."
88888888
And so Jemima delayed her leaving for Leisure for another day, while Dr. Withering sought, and got, the reassurance he was seeking from George Warleggan, and told her she may begin.
"I have had nothing from Captain Poldark, but Mr. Francis Poldark wishes to see me," he told Jemima, the day before her beginning at Leisure again.
Whatever can he want? Jemima wondered.
Her father was taking Humphry to the patients that the young man was going to attend, and so the day after the dance Dr. Withering and Humphry Davy left Meadowsweet as Jemima steeled go back to the Ting Tongs.
If Sir Francis didn't need her, she wasn't going to force his hand, particularly as Warleggan had offered her a senior position. But Jemima knew her father and knew that, in this case, if Ross Poldark was still at Wheal Leisure, he would not let her work there.
She pondered this as she walked west that morning, as driving first at Dolcoath. The engine, as usual, was working. Dick, when he saw her at the edge of the pit head and climbed up to her.
"Who has the engine?" Jemima asked him as they walked away, meaning in contol of the engine's pistons and valves.
"She'll do for a moment, there has been a bit of water build up; she'll take half an hour to clear."
"I must first to Sir Francis; I'll come back," Jemima told him.
And, surprised as she was to be admitted immediately to see Sir Francis - for he was notoriously thrifty with visitors - the man listened to her tell him of the offer made.
He apologised for Ross Poldark's behaviour and hopes she suffered no ill effects. Then Jemima discussed her employment.
"If that is what you want, I will be sorry that you will no longer work for me. I can offer you a similar position at Wheal Radiant?". But Jemima shook her head.
"I have my word, but will still work with the engines."
"And we have more orders.". Sir Francis took a turn to a large window that overlooked Wheal Fortune. "And Dick Trevithick has the locomotive steam engines he is working on."
"No word from Mr. Watt?" Jemima asked. Sir Francis turned, slowly from the industry beyond his back garden and looked at her.
"I have heard from Master Watt that his father is furious about what Trevithick is doing with the pumping engine. I am glad you are not involved; Gregory says his father would not hesitate to bring the matter to court if Trevithick persists."
And Jemima shook Sir Francis's hand, as he thanked her for all the work done, and she left, his works about "court" and "Trevithick" burrowing deep into her hindbrain, as Sir Francis bid her come to visit his daughter "For she enjoyed your company last night, Miss Withering."
"I enjoyed hers," Jemima replied "And I would visit Miss Francis," she added, telling him that she planned to stay with Trevithick and the engine and work at Wheal Leisure.
"You wouldn't stay?" Dick asked her when Jemima returned to Dolcoath and the engine.
"It is not my decision - Sir Francis agreed I could have some hours back with you.
Dick's face brightened and he climbed out over the top of the pit head.
"But I will need to speak to Mr. Warleggan. If he allows, I can come here sometimes, and stay at Wheal Leisure for the other time. As long as Poldark is gone, my father says. But, Dick," Jemima continued, feeling the brightness of exhilaration behind her ribs, "Warleggan has allowed me to be mine captain, so I will need to be there most of the time."
But Dick was not deterred. Instead, he took Jemina's hand and led her north, away from the mines, and to the coast.
"Let us go, talk to me, Jemima," he said and, far from shaking him off, Jemima Withering curled her fingers around his, tiny compared to his own.
And it occurred to her she had never seen him so willing to converse with her, or anyone before.
Dick led her to the coastal path, which snaked between winter heather and dormant gorse, that fell to kiss the sand and the two friends walked beside one another. It was a way of delaying her goodbye, to Dick, the Ting Tong mines.
"Will you go to Bull? To Gregory?" Jemima asked him, when they made footprints in the firm, gaining sand.
"I need to finish the engines first - others have been asked for, towards Lizard and Vennor. You are needed, Jemima," he added. "Will you come? I still need you."
Jemima stopped walking and turned to face him.
"Dick…" she began, taking up his other hand. How glad she was holding them, as if the shame of her wrists imprisoned in Poldark's grasp the night before were being slowly removed from her memory.
"I need you…I love you, Jemima, I have told you this, Do you love me?"
"I do, Dick!" Jemima replied, suddenly knowing that she did, her heart longing more for his company than the engines he made. He made her feel safe, he made her feel wanted. Jemima did love him.
Which is why what she had to stay with the engine, with him.
And it was Jemima, now, who pushed up on tiptoes, her mouth touching his, expressing her feelings for him exactly. He did not press her, or pull her close, but let Jemima come to him, reaching for him, until she had got close enough for Dick to reach to her back and pull her body to his.
"When I go to Darby, will you come with me? You know the land; you know the engine."
"I should like to," Jemima told him. "I invested my money in your engines and - " She clamped her hand to her mouth and looked at him with shock.
"You did that?" Dick asked, astonished in his voice. "You said you had a little to invest - you are the half share investor?". When Jemima nodded, he kissed her again.
Dick walked with Jemima back to Camborne, holding hands with her until they got to the first hamlet, before letting go out of her hand for propriety's sake, Jemima reluctantly leaving him at Meadowsweet's door.
She watched him stride away before going in, putting a hand to her mouth. Was that her feeling to him, Dick Trevithick, her friend?
She had said she would be back the next day, for her father still had to agree, for he was still to speak to Warleggan.
So it was a surprise to Jemima when, waiting beside Meadowsweet was Mr. Francis Poldark, standing beside his horse, his face mild, his demeanour patient, and Jemima rembered Dr. Enys's words about his attempted suicide. He did seem altogether different from when he had attacked her at Grambler and, when she invited him inside, he nodded.
"Would that your housekeeper be here, to chaperone us," he added, as Mrs. Vaughn brought tea.
"I do not think there is a need; you are married," Jemima added.
"My cousin," Francis Poldark began, "Is, as I am sure you are aware, very sorry for his actions towards you.". Cup halfway to her lips, Jemima paused.
"How am I aware?" Jemima asked. "He has not met me to tell me of this, nor written. Nor done either of those things for my father. Indeed, my father is visiting Warleggan to ensure I will be safe when I go back to Wheal Leisure."
"Oh, you are going back?". There was surprise in the man's voice.
"There is copper there that is in want of mining," Jemima told him, bluntly. "Now, maybe, at last, the ore can come to grass and the shareholders can become richer."
"Shareholder," Francis Poldark emphasised. "George Warleggan is alone now, much good that it will do him. So, may I say I am sorry on my cousin's behalf?"
Jemima put down her cup, and nodded slowly.
"You didn't have to come, so I am glad that you did, glad that you - " she broke off. "You seem different, more…at ease with the world, sir, since last time we met."
"Last time we met…I was having a similar conversation to your father, if you recall. But, Miss Withering, I wanted to ask you…". He looked down, then glanced away, as if conflicted. Then he gave her a smile.
"Miss Withering, I am now in business with my cousin, and he has no reason to still now be at Leisure now he has no shares. He will be clearing out and George will have his muscle there to protect his interests."
"The Harry brothers?" Jemima guessed.
"Yes," Francis laughed. "And Tankard. I gather you would like to see inside Grambler? George owns it, of course, but he doesn't know it."
"And was there a problem with flooding around the fortieth fathom?"
"Yes," Francis replied. "But it is as it is with many a mine." But Jemima shook her head and told the man about stratification, although she knew she had told him before, but this time Francis Poldark listened, and nodded, signalling that, to some extent, he was understanding her.
"We would only know, if the ironstone continued to the north east, to meet Grambler south west ten fathoms down. Is it the same rock? Only you would know."
"Only I and my cousin. But getting a sample of ironstone from Leisure will be easy enough, it just lying around everywhere as it is. And we can go down to get some of the south west rock to compare.". Francis set down his empty cup.
"Then it is settled," he said, his voice light, merry. "Just give the word, Miss Withering and you and I may descend the depths."
"And find you copper," Jemima told him.
"Grambler? I don't think so," Francis got to his feet, his hat in his hand. "But with your theory, who knows? Good fortune at Leisure," he added, standing by the door.
"And you at Grace," Jemima replied. "You know that you should find the other end of the copper in Grace…when you do, we will be in direct competition to retrieve it."
"Well, I look forward to it, Miss Withering," Francis Poldark told Jemima, taking up her hand, and kissing the back of it, noticing the red marks that still showed on her wrists from the force his cousin must have used.
"I…just wanted to ask…to say…" Francis Poldark turned at the threshold.
What? Jemima thought, at his breaking off again. What was too complicated to ask her? But the look faded, that of a secret to be shared, and Francis tapped his hat with his fingers.
"Goodday, Miss Withering," he finishes.
Jemima watched him leave, watched his horse tread over the soft earth, and thought over the strange conversation as she busied herself preparing for her work at Wheal Leisure.
88888888
Jemima slept fitfully in the night, the strange happenings that day, through supper as her father and Humphry enthused about the work and the patients he had attended. Her kiss with Dick, her declaration of love to him, of Francis's visit to tell her something which ended up being nothing.
Her father had not risen, and so Jemima decided to wait until he was up later to discuss whether he would consent to her working at Wheal Leisure again.
"Come on, Jemima!" Humphry pleased, as he set himself together with a cloak and the medical bag he would need to attend the ill patients he was going to that morning.
Preferring to remain, or to go to the Ting Tongs again, or yet see Dick was thrown out of her mind by her friend's enthusiasm that she come - he was excited to have such a position and wanted to show her what he could do: "A Mr. Trelee needs bandages changing every day for a leg injury from mining and there are two, old miners, who are pushed in their chairs to near the cliff for the air…"
It wasn't long before Jemima discovered the mansion house to which they were walking was a convalescent home for miners too old or infirm to contribute to work.
Miners who had some money, of course - those of Sawle, Illogan, Redruth, ordinary miners, could never have afforded to recover there.
"...and then there are the patients who are still fully conscious that seem to suffer from internal pain. Your father has examined them of course, some are fading with no known cause, gas inhalation of some sort…"
"What gases are there in a Cornish mine?" Jemima asked. "They are not like the depth of blackness a coal mine, with all sorts of gases, to poison or explode."
Jemima rembered her friend being horrified at the thought, for Humphry clearly associated mines with being just deep underground rock caverns.
"Deaths in coal mines, so the Earl of Dudley has estimated outnumbers deaths by burial or rockfall at four compared to every one. A mine owner's nightmare, as well as a miner's."
The grounds to the home, which had opened from subscription from prominent mine owners thirty years before, had the graceful air of a trim Cornish country house, two storeys, with wings set ninety degrees at either side. The main door housed a reception area that gently mirrored the season: boughs of greenery had been brought in, holly at the windows. A Christmas tree stood near the doors, woollen festive decorations threaded through its branches, candles tied on here and there.
A woman answered the door, wearing a plain black frock, and it gave Jemima the impression she was of a religious order. Her compunction for cleanliness was certainly devout, for she bade both Humphry and Jemima removed their boots and coats before she showed Humphry to the first patient.
"And who are you?" the woman asked clearly.
"Today, Master Davy's assistant. Tomorrow, with my father's consent, back to managing a mine."
Jemima could tell that the woman thought her to be a liar or delusional, so Jemima explained that her father usually attended.
"Dr. Withering,? You're his daughter?". Jemima nodded.
"My physic is basic, but my father felt the need to rest today.". She looked through the door into one of the rooms, where Humphry was expertly checking the pulse of an elderly man who was slumped down in his bed. "Master Davy, on the other hand, has studied at the Pneumatic Institute in Bristol, under Dr. Beddoes, I have been taught what I need by my father to assist."
The woman's manner did not change much, but clearly something in her face changed.
"A doctor does need an assistant, sometimes," she conceded. "Will you help me take outside Mr. Day and Mr. Ledwys?" And she explained they were to be wrapped up in blankets from the neck downwards to keep from chilling, but that the cold sea air was needed in their lungs.
Both, it turned out, had worked for Wheal Busy, directly west of the Ting Tongs and Mr. Ledwys told Jemima of the copper they had just found.
"Take no mind," the woman told Jemima. "His sense has gone, with whatever was down in their mines. They both think that they are working still, but Mr. Ladwys has been here for five years and Mr. Day for three.
"Don't these diseases and maladies concern you, Miss Withering? For yourself?" the nurse, whose name was Mrs. Brea asked.
"Not when you compare to coal mines or iron foundries," and Jemima told Mrs. Brea of the diseases, the rots, the agues, the chest diseases, the skin diseases of those who hewes coal for a living. Similar convalescent homes existed in the Midlands, treating similar patients, although in the Midlands her father treated gentlemen.
"And he does here, too, in Cornwall," explaining that Dr. Withering saw all, from Sir Francis Bassett to any mine owner or worker.
"How long has this been a home?" Jemima asked, as they went to stand in the hallway again.
"Nearly thirty years, it was once the home of the Lashbrooks. The daughter, Mary, was the last of them, and she put together a collective whereby it could be bought by subscription when she married.". Mrs Brea looked about her, at the rooms ahead, and to those up the stairs. "The families work hard to keep their loved ones here."
She nodded to a door behind them where Humphry had gone, and made towards it. Jemima followed, and found Humphry treating a man who had lost his leg in a mining accident.
"Jemima! Come, I need your help! Strapping and bandages!" he declared, nodding to the bag. Jemima glanced to the man, at his leg - or where his leg should have been -
"A maiden?!" The man protested. He shuffled in his bed as Jemima bent to Humphry's bag. "Mrs Brea! I protest!". He looked from the nurse sister to Humphry, "And you, boy! Dr. Withering assured me you would be able to manage!"
"This is Miss Withering, and I am sure that she is as good as I, if not better.". With one hand, Humphry took the bandages, and Jemima saw her was holding together a dressing around the man's stump.
Jemima let the cloth, that would have been boiled, dried, soaked in lime as a preventative for disease and dried again, play out of her hands as Humphry secured the man's amputation. No longer an exposed wound, this treatment was for cushioning, for comfort.
"Dr. Withering's brat, eh?" The man said to her, moving his head, intrigued.
"Mr. Thomas!" Mrs Brea protested. But the man ignored her.
"I have heard of good things of you - great things," Mr. Thomas modified. "It is good you help your father! My good-for-nothing sons do not come!"
He reached for Jemima's forearm, which made her jump. But she turned anyway to this surly man and said, "I am sorry to hear that, Mr. Thomas."
"Yes, yes, well,". The man waved his hand away from her. "You are a good child to help your father, you and this youth here.". Thomas looked across to Humphry, who was still dressing what remained of the man's leg.
"He's not of the faith, but you? Good child, good?". He nodded to Jemima as if she had just done something to earn this man's relenting of sharp words to her, those things being deeds past done. She smiled and nodded to this irascible man, as Humphry finished dressing the man.
"You'll come tomorrow, aye? Aye?" He asked of Humphry, who agreed, leaving Mrs Brea to talk to him, or rather, Mr. Thomas snap short words to her.
"He was mine captain at Busy, several years ago. A pit prop fell on him when some rock shifted. It was lucky it wasn't his life. Your father amputated it while he was still down underground, and Mr. Preece carried him up." Humphry shook his head. "He is in pain every day - your father has prescribed laudanum. But he doesn't realise the reason his sons hardly visit is because they work many long hours to pay for his care."
Jemima followed Humphry upstairs, to a room that overlooked the sea. He must really be in pain, she thought to herself, for her father rarely prescribed laudanum.
From the staircase window she could see the ground at the back of the house that opened towards the sea, and two small figures in chairs that she and Mrs Brea had helped out there not long before, still, unmoving, looking at who knew what.
"What is wrong with them?" Jemima asked Humphry, as he made to stride off in the direction of the rooms to the right. He stopped and stood by the window.
"I don't know. I am not sure your father does. He says there was some sort of gas in the mine, something they breathed in. Both were found, still, lifeless, at the lower level. They were brought up, but your father found a pulse in them both. Then, they eventually came around, and seemed normal at first, but, slowly, they began to lose their minds, their memories.". Jemima looked down again, thinking at once how terrible that must have been.
"Gases can be like that in coal mines," she told Humphry, as they walled together to the next room. "They can come on suddenly as coal is pulled down. But, what could be within the rocks? What might that gas be?". Humphry turned, and shrugged his head.
"I have done some studies - you helped with those, Jemima, when you worked down at Leisure. But, I do not know. Few people have been such affected within the mine, but there has been, as your father knows, other people who have lived near mines who have lost their mind. He believes there might be a link, even if their families believe they have been affected by staring at the moon for too long, or having been visited by the fairies."
And the intrigue continued as Humphry got to the woman who was within the room that lay beyond a small corridor of picture windows.
The room was not sparsely decorated - a tapestry hung on one wall, a picture on the other. To one side, a bed, Jacquard embroidery, a beautiful pattern. There was a woman sitting beside it, in a wide-backed chair.
She did move, or even turn her head when Humphry approached. Jemima lingered in the doorway, watching. If she had been blind, she might have moved her head, Jemima reasoned, but the woman seemed oblivious to stimuli, even when Humphry took her pulse and counted, while looking at Dr. Withering's own watch, the woman didn't move.
"She is like them," Humphry told her. "Not a miner, but she lived very close to the mine where Mr. Day and Mr. Ladwys worked - this was before those gentleman were brought up.". Humphry took the woman's hands and placed them with the backs on her legs, palms upwards, and traced his index finger down one of them.
"Her husband could not work and care for her, and had a nurse for her.". Jemima watched as Humphry ran a finger down the middle of her other hand. Like the first, her hand curled, following his touch.
But she didn't even look at him, staring past Humphry's head, to the wide window, to the sky, the sea.
Jemima looked at the woman, whose face looked thin and worn, the face if someone much older. Her eyes seemed overly large and her hair, which was turning white, was wispy and dead-looking.
She did not seem to be aware of Humphry as he put an ear to her back, listening to her heartbeat nor when he drew out her legs, picking up one foot, and then the other, watching them fall a short way to the floor.
"Can she walk…? Speak…?". Jemima asked, searching the woman's face for a modicum of life. Humphry shook his head.
"She does look out to sea sometimes, but she gets agitated. She gave her nurse the slip several times, and her husband was worried she might run straight over a cliff. So he works hard to earn money for her care." He looked across to her and gave a wan smile.
"Except he has been bought out of Wheal Leisure now."
"Who has?" Jemima asked, questions suddenly filling her head.
"Why, you don't know?" asked Humphry, turning to Jemima. "He's put his lot in with Poldark at the other mine. Wheal Grace.". He made to leave, but Jemima grabbed his arm.
"Humphry, who?!"
He turned back, confusion at Jemima's fierce question.
"Henshawe, of course. The mine captain? This is his wife, Anne.". He took a few steps towards the woman, and added, "Goodday, Mrs. Henshawe, I'll be back tomorrow."
88888888
Jemima could not have been more shocked if Humphry had slapped her. William Henshawe's wife? And so frail, without the world, her mind occupied on…what?
She had asked Humphry if he knew more, but though he talked of mines and diseases his effervescent words told Jemima nothing new.
It was only when they approached home, the light lit in her father's study, that the outrageous thought abated.
Humphrey told Dr. Withering all of his visit, her father noting it all down in his ledger. "Supper will be ready shortly," he told Humphry, and nodded to Jemima too.
But Jemima wouldn't go, and after he thanked her for taking Humphry's place that day, and Humphry his own, Jemima approached him.
"You're unwell yourself," she told him, accusingly. "Who has attended you."
"Not really unwell," her father told her, covering her hand with his own. "Nothing rest would not sort out.". He looked to her face, and smiled. "I trust you would have answer on Wheal Leisure?"
"I would," Jemima replied, the answer and average of everything she felt, about Warleggan, and Poldark, of the work and the copper and Henshawe…Henshawe, now, after everything she knew.
"Take your things to Leisure tomorrow. And if you still wish to work with Dick Trevithick, you must negotiate that yourself with Warleggan."
88888888
It was cold as Jemima dressed the next morning, ice was on the inside of the window panes. No fires had been lit; darkness had barely given way to dawn.
Finally Jemima had gone to sleep, mind racing with a mixture of feelings. Excitement for one, for her father had not even seen Warleggan and had decided she should go.
So her mind wondered about the mine and how many differences there might be.
There was excitement, too, and injustice. For there might have been a different future those last six months, had Poldark agreed for the copper to be sought.
And anger. Anger and pity for Henshawe, who might have lived a better life, persisting as he did in little more than a shack, clearly in order to pay for his wife's care.
Did everyone know about it? That was what Jemima thought as her boots crunched east over a frost-covered ground. Her father knew, clearly, but who else? Had she been ignorant of the whole situation?
Poldark had told her he was married, but to a woman suffering as she had some mental affliction. Poor, poor man.
Lost in her many thought, it was only when her foot met the stone saying, "Wheal Leisure" that she stopped, getting her bearings.
Little was different, the carts and the rock beds just as they had been six months before, though why she might have thought that there would be, Jemima thought.
Bettys would not be here yet although someoneusy he, for a smoke was coming from the small chimney of the mine office.
And the fire was indeed alight, but no-one seemed to be there. Miners' hats with candle affixed, new and ready for use ranged across the back wall, with over clothing dotted in neat piles underneath.
A mine ready for mining, and yet as deserted as the House of Lords in August.
Perhaps someone was below, for the door that opened to the pit head below was latched up in place, the safety catch on. So someone must be below, Jemima reasoned, for no-one would be burning a fire in the most important building on site unsupervised.
So she decided to wait, and shelved her luncheon "piece" above the mining hats, as was custom, then stood before the fire, warming her limbs.
Warleggan must be expecting her, and he must have told Henry Bettys. But if not, Jemima now rehearsed a few words that she might say to the man, in case he hadn't been told and wondered why she was standing there early in the morning on that cold, December day.
When no-one appeared, Jemima ventured tentatively down the rungs, her boots onto the metal, until she got about half way down.
No candles, no-one below. Jemima was almost at the top when the door slammed open, voices exchanging rapid information.
Not Bettys come to start the day off, ready to equip the men with their picks and clothing, or miners looking to begin their shift. Instead, this was a person she knew.
He stopped in his gait across to the corner, where the picks leaned in the corner.
"Miss Withering." His voice betrayed neither surprise or shock that she was there. Instead, his voice took on a resigned expression, and he stopped in his progress, as of waiting for Jemima to say something.
She was about to say something about being surprised be was there when the door opened again and William Henshawe stepped through.
"Come on, before Warleggan - " He broke off when he saw Jemima and also stood still, frozen in action. Through the open door a cart was laden with other other moveable items - the chain from the horse pulley, the blocks from the ore carts. Perhaps literally everything that could not be nailed down.
She hadn't it in her heart to accuse Ross Poldark of theft, even though technically it was George's mine now as were the moveable assets. And he had grabbed her wrists so tightly she still had marks.
Jemima's mind flitted to Henshawe and she must have looked rather piteous as she remembered his wife, and the child's grave over which he had once lingered, because he said to her, "Miss Withering, be you well?"
"Quite well," she told him. "And yourself?"
"Indeed so."
Then there was a silence, for a moment, which Jemima broke by asking, "Have you seen Mr Bettys? Or Mr. Warleggan?"
"We are taking my property," Poldark swaggered towards her, "Why on earth would the previous owner and mine captain expect to see their replacements?"
It stung, but Jemima pushed aside the barb. "Did you start the fire?" she accused, "And secure the hatch? Because I did not. And it is dangerous…perhaps you meant it to be dangerous - "
"Ross…" cautioned Henshawe, putting a hand on Poldark's shoulder, his eyes on Jemima, who had broken off when he moved.
"It's all right, we are going," Poldark told her.
"And your cousin came to apologise for you yesterday, so as far as I am concerned the matter is settled."
Poldark stared at her again, his face creasing to anger. "Francis? Apologising for my behaviour?"
"Yes, indeed," Jemima put in, in order to, more than anything, ensure he didn't try talking to her forcefully again. "So if you will excuse me, Captain Poldark…Captain Henshawe," she nodded to them both, "I will leave you to do whatever it is you came to do."
It was cold outside, and Jemima stood beside the outer wall of the office hut where the fire would be burning. It was a little warmer, but not much, and she hoped that someone working for Warleggan would arrive soon. She did not want her father to have a reason to stop her from working at Wheal Leisure, and continuing to talk to Poldark might give him one.
After a few moments however, there was a crunch of foot under loose stone. But it was not Bettys. The man was tall, with brown hair and eyes and a familiar sadness.
"Mr. Henshawe. I - "
"You're working here again, Miss Withering.". He gave her a plaintive smile. "You've achieved so much over at Sir Francis's mines, and the steam engine too."
"Yes," she nodded. "And I will be sad you are not mine captain any more. Will - you come to see my father again?"
Polite words. Polite, proper words, when Jemina's very soul was tearing at her chest to throw her arms around the man and show her absolute devastation at his situation: his child's death, his wife's illness, and his persistence in poverty in order to keep her in care. That by now, if Poldark had not vetoed her proposal to dig south, all the shareholders would have been wealthy, Dunkin would never have had to go to debtor's prison, and Henshawe wouldn't have had to live in such a state of impove
She loved Dick Trevithick, love that came from a shared purpose. It felt hot, earthy, like the rock heated by the steam of the engine.
But for Henshawe, Jemina's heart soared like a bird, like an eagle, gloriously enjoying the sun on its feathers and the wind beneath its wings. To hide her feelings, her emotions for the man felt like a cruel cage for the bird, wings clipped, hoodwinked.
Yet, there was nothing wrong with telling him she had gone with Humphry to the convalescent home and had been there when he had examined Mrs Henshawe.
After she had done so, adding, "I am so sorry, Captain," Will Henshawe put a hand to her shoulder, his eyes betraying more sadness than his demeanour intended.
"In the Lord we trust, for nothing we do here on earth is not God's doing. Come on," he added, as the picks were put on the hand cart. "I am glad to see you here, Miss Withering, for you may verify to Mr. Warleggan that we only took the moveable assets, as is Captain Poldark's right."
Jemima looked across to Ross Poldark, who paused in the process of stacking the mining picks. Then, after staring at her for what seemed like a geological age, the man pulled an oil-coated linen over the cart and stalked off to the front, taking up a handle.
"Goodday, Miss Withering," and where Henshawe touched her arm in gesture before joining Ross Poldark, there remained the sensation of burning penetrating deep to Jemina's marrow.
She watched them go, over bumpy ground, the wheels clipping small stones in the weak light of the winter's day. Only when they were almost out of sight did Henshawe turn to see Jemima Withering watching them go.