×

Uh-oh, it looks like your Internet Explorer is out of date.

For a better shopping experience, please upgrade now.

Demelza: A Novel of Cornwall, 1788-1790
     

Demelza: A Novel of Cornwall, 1788-1790

4.6 11
by Winston Graham
 

See All Formats & Editions

As Seen on Masterpiece? on PBS®: Book 2 of the beloved Poldark series

In the enchanting second novel in Winston Graham's beloved Poldark series, Demelza Carne, an impoverished miner's daughter Ross Poldark rescued from a fairground brawl, now happily finds herself his wife. But the events of these turbulent years test their marriage and

Overview

As Seen on Masterpiece? on PBS®: Book 2 of the beloved Poldark series

In the enchanting second novel in Winston Graham's beloved Poldark series, Demelza Carne, an impoverished miner's daughter Ross Poldark rescued from a fairground brawl, now happily finds herself his wife. But the events of these turbulent years test their marriage and their love.

As Ross launches into a bitter struggle for the right of the mining communities, Demelza's efforts to adapt to the ways of the gentry (and her husband) place her in increasingly odd and embarrassing situations. When tragedy strikes and sows the seeds of an enduring rivalry between Ross and the powerful George Warleggan, will Demelza manage to bridge their differences before they destroy her and her husband's chance at happiness?

Against the stunning backdrop of eighteenth century Cornwall, Demelza sweeps readers into one of the greatest love stories of all time.

Season 2 of Poldark premieres Sunday, September 25, 2016 on PBS.

Product Details

ISBN-13:
9781492622109
Publisher:
Sourcebooks
Publication date:
06/09/2015
Series:
Poldark
Edition description:
New Edition
Pages:
432
Sales rank:
1,486
Product dimensions:
8.10(w) x 5.50(h) x 1.30(d)

Related Subjects

Read an Excerpt

Poldark Demelza


By WINSTON GRAHAM

Sourcebooks, Inc.

Copyright © 2015 Winston Graham
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4022-5424-6



CHAPTER 1

There could have been prophecy in the storm that blew up at the time of Julia's birth.

May was not a time for heavy gales, but the climate of Cornwall is capricious as any child ever born. It had been a kindly enough spring, as kindly as the summer and winter that had gone before it—mild, soft, comfortable weather—and the land was already heavy with green things. Then May broke rainy and gusty, and the blossoms suffered here and there and the hay leaned about looking for support.

On the night of the fifteenth, Demelza felt her first pains. Even then for a while she gripped the bedpost and thought the matter all around before she said anything. All along she had viewed the coming ordeal with a calm and philosophical mind and had never troubled Ross with false alarms. She did not want to begin so late. The previous evening she had been out in her beloved garden, digging around the young plants. Then as it was going dark she had found a disgruntled hedgehog and had played with him, trying to persuade him to take some bread and milk, and had only come in reluctantly as the sky clouded and it went cold.

This—this thing in the middle of the night—might yet be only the result of getting overtired.

But when it began to feel as if someone were kneeling on her backbone and trying to break it, she knew it was not.

She touched Ross's arm and he woke instantly.

"Well?"

"I think," she said. "I think you will have to fetch Prudie."

He sat up. "Why? What is it?"

"I have a pain."

"Where? Do you mean ..."

"I have a pain," she said primly. "I think 'twould be as well to fetch Prudie."

He climbed quickly out of bed, and she listened to the scratch of flint and steel. After a moment, the tinder caught and he lit a candle. The room flickered into view: heavy teak beams, the curtain over the door moving gently in the breeze, the low window seat hung with pink grogram, her shoes as she had kicked them off, one wooden sole upmost, Joshua's spyglass, Ross's pipe, Ross's book, and a fly crawling.

He looked at her and at once knew the truth. She smiled a pallid apology. He went across to the table by the door and poured her a glass of brandy.

"Drink this. I will send Jud for Dr. Choake." He began to pull on his clothes anyhow.

"No, no, Ross; do not send yet. It is the middle of the night. He will be asleep."

Whether Thomas Choake should be called in to her had been a dissension between them for some weeks. Demelza could not forget that twelve months prior she had been a maidservant and that Choake, though only a physician, owned a small estate that, even if it had been bought with his wife's money, put him on a level from which the likes of her would be seen as unimportant chattels. That was until Ross married her. Since then she had grown to her position. She could put on a show of refinement and good manners, and not at all a bad show at that, but a doctor was different. A doctor caught one at a disadvantage. If the pain was bad, she would almost certainly swear in the old way she had learned from her father, not a few genteel "damn mes" and "by Gods," as anyone might excuse from a lady in trouble. To have a baby and be forced to act genteel at the same time was more than Demelza could look forward to.

Besides, she didn't want a man about. It wasn't decent. Her cousin-in-law, Elizabeth, had had him, but Elizabeth was an aristocrat born and bred, and they looked at things differently. She would far rather have had old Aunt Betsy Triggs from Mellin, who sold pilchards and was a rare strong hand when it came to babies.

But Ross was the more determined and he had had his way. She was not unprepared for his curt "Then he shall be woke" as he left the room.

She called him back. "Ross!" For the moment the pain had gone.

"Yes?" His strong, scarred, introspective face was half lit by the candle, the upgrowing dark hair was ruffled and hardly showed its hint of copper, and his shirt was open at the throat. That man—aristocrat of them all, she thought—that man, so reserved and reserving, with whom she had shared rare intimacy.

"Would you?" she said. "Before you go ..."

He came back to the bed. The emergency had come on him so quickly in his sleep that he had had no time yet to feel anything but alarm that her time had come and relief that it might soon be over. As he kissed her he saw the moisture on her face and a worm of fear and compassion moved in him. He took her face in his hands, pushed back the black hair, and stared a moment into the dark eyes of his young wife. They were not dancing and mischievous as they so often were, but there was no fear in them.

"I'll be back. In a moment I'll be back."

She made a gesture of dissent. "Don't come back, Ross. Go and tell Prudie, that's all. I'd rather—you didn't see me like this."

"And what of Verity? You specially wanted Verity here."

"Tell her in the morning. 'Tisn't fair to bring her out in the night air. Send for her in the morning."

He kissed her again.

"Tell me that you love me, Ross," she said.

He looked at her in surprise. "You know I do!"

"And say you don't love Elizabeth."

"And I don't love Elizabeth." What else was he to say when he did not know the truth himself ? He was not a man who spoke his inmost feelings easily, but he saw himself powerless to help her, and only words of his and not actions would give her aid. "Nothing else matters but you," he said. "Remember that. All my relatives and friends—and Elizabeth, and this house and the mine. I'd throw them in the dust and you know it—and you know it. If you don't know it, then all these months I've failed and no words I can give you now will make it otherwise. I love you, Demelza, and we've had such happiness. And we're going to have it again. Take hold of that, my sweet. Hold it and keep it, for no one else can."

"I'll hold it, Ross," she said, content because the words had come.

He kissed her again and turned and lit more candles, took up one, and went quickly out of the room, the hot grease running over his hand. The wind had dropped since the day before; there was only a breeze. He did not know the time, but it felt about two.

He pushed open the door on the other side of the landing and went across to the bedroom where Jud and Prudie slept. The ill-fitting bedroom door opened with a long squeak that merged into Prudie's slow rasping snore. He grunted in disgust, for the hot, close, sweaty smell offended his nose. The night air might be dangerous, but they could surely open the window during the day and let the stink out.

He went across and parted the curtains and shook Jud by the shoulders. Jud's two great teeth showed like gravestones. He shook again, violently. Jud's nightcap came off and a spot of the candle grease fell on his bald patch. Jud woke. He began to curse, then he saw who it was and sat up, rubbing his head.

"What's amiss?"

"Demelza is ill." How call her anything but Demelza to a man who had been there when she came as a tattered waif of thirteen? "I want you to go for Dr. Choake at once. And wake Prudie. She will be wanted too."

"What's amiss with her?"

"Her pains have begun."

"Oh, that. I thought 'ee said she were ill." Jud frowned at the piece of cooling tallow he had found on his head. "Prudie and me could manage that. Prudie know all that sort of panjandle. Tedn a 'ard thing to learn. Why, there's always such a dido about en I never can conceit. Tedn easy, mind, but once you've gotten the knack—"

"Get up."

Jud came out of bed, knowing the tone, and they woke Prudie. Her great shiny face peered through its tangle of greasy black hair as she wiped her nose on a corner of her night rail.

"Aw, my dear, I'll see to the mite. Poor maid." She began to fasten a pair of filthy stays over her shift. "I d'know how 'twas with my mother.

She telled me how 'twas when I was on the brew. Shifted I 'ad. Moved I 'ad. 'Twas a cruel chronic thing, they said. A weak, ailing little mouse, an' nobody believed I'd see the christening pot ..."

"Go to her as soon as you can," Ross said. "I'll get Darkie from the stables. You won't want her saddled."

"Mebbe I can ride bare-ridged that far," Jud said grudgingly. "Though if you make a slip in the dark, like as not you're pitched off on yer 'ead, and then snap goes yer neck and where are you?" Ross ran down the stairs. On his way out he looked in at the new clock they had bought for the parlor. It wanted ten minutes to three. Dawn would not be long. Things were so much worse by candlelight.

In the stable he delayed to saddle Darkie, telling his fumbling fingers that every woman went through it: it became a commonplace of their existence, pregnancies following each other like the summer seasons. But he would see Jud safely off; if the fool slipped he might be hours. He would have gone himself if he could have trusted the Paynters alone with Demelza.

At the front of the house Jud was fastening his breeches under the lilac tree.

"Don't know as I shall rightly see me way," he said. "Dark as a blathering sack, 'tis. By rights I should 'ave a lantern on a pole. A long pole as I could 'old out—"

"Get up or you'll have the pole across your head."

Jud mounted. "What's to say as he won't come?"

"Bring him," Ross said and gave Darkie a slap across the haunches.

When Jud turned in at the gates of Fernmore, the house of Thomas Choake, he observed disdainfully that the building was little more than a farmhouse, though they put on airs as if it was Blenheim. He got down and rat-tatted at the door. The house was surrounded by big pine trees, and the rooks and jackdaws were already awake, flying around in circles and being noisy. Jud raised his head and sniffed. All the previous day they'd been unsettled at Nampara.

At the seventh knock a window screeched above the door, and a nightcap appeared like a cuckoo out of a clock.

"Well, man, well, man! What is it? What's the damnation noise?" Jud knew by the voice and eyebrows that he had flushed the right bird.

"Cap'n Poldark sent me for to fetch 'ee," he said, mumbling. "Dem— um—Mistress Poldark's took bad and they need you."

"What Mistress Poldark, man? What Mistress Poldark?"

"Mistress Demelza Poldark. Over to Nampara. 'Er that be going to have 'er first."

"Well, what's wrong? Didn't they say what was to do?"

"Ais. Tes her time."

"Nonsense, fellow. I saw her last week and I told Captain Poldark that there would be nothing until June. Go tell them I stand by that opinion."

The window slammed.

Jud Paynter was a man much interested in the malign indifference of man and providence to his own needs, and interested in not much else, but sometimes an accident roused him for other ends. That was one of the accidents.

From feeling disgruntled at the simpering softness of Demelza and the misplaced harshness of Ross in turning him out on a bitter May morning without so much as a tot of rum, he came to reflect that Ross was his master and Demelza one of his own kind.

Three minutes later Dr. Choake put out his head again.

"What is it, man? You'll have the door down!"

"I was telled to fetch you."

"You insolent fellow! I'll have you thrashed for this!"

"Where's yer 'orse? I'll 'ave him out while you put yer drawers on." The surgeon withdrew. Polly Choake's lisping voice could be heard in the background, and once her fluffy head passed the window. They were in consultation. Then Choake called down coldly, "You must wait, fellow. We shall be with you in ten minutes."

Jud was sufficiently alive to the surgeon's peculiarities to know that by that Choake meant only himself.

Twenty-one minutes later, in icy silence, they set off. The rooks were still flying in circles and cawing, and at Sawle Church there was a great noise. Day was breaking. Streaks of watered green showed in the northeast, and the sky where the sun would rise was a bold pale orange behind the black ribs of the night. A wild sunrise and a strangely quiet one. After the winds of the previous days, the calm was profound. As they passed Grambler Mine they overtook a party of bal maidens singing as they walked to work, their shrill fresh voices as sweet and young as the morning. Jud noticed that Will Nanfan's sheep were all gathered together in the most sheltered corner of the field.

Reflection on the quiet ride salved some of Dr. Choake's annoyance, for when they reached Nampara, he did not complain but greeted Ross stiffly and lumbered upstairs. There he found that the alarm was not a false one. He sat with Demelza for half an hour telling her to be brave and that there was nothing to be frightened of. Then, because she seemed constrained and was sweating a lot, he suspected a touch of fever and bled her to be on the safe side. It made her feel very ill, a result that pleased him, for it proved, he said, that a toxic condition had existed and his treatment had brought on a normal and desirable intermission of the fever. If she took an infusion of bark once an hour it would prevent a renewal. Then he went home to breakfast.

Ross had been swilling himself under the pump trying to wash away the megrims of the night, and when he came through the house and saw a thickset figure riding up the valley, he called sharply to Jinny Carter, who came every day to work in the house and had just arrived.

"Is that Dr. Choake?"

Jinny bent over her own child, whom she brought on her back and kept in a basket in the kitchen. "Yes, sur. He says the baby won't be afore dinner at the early side, and he say he'll be back by nine or ten."

Ross turned away to hide his annoyance. Jinny looked at him with devoted eyes.

"Who helped you with your babies, Jinny?" he asked.

"Mother, sur."

"Will you go and get her, Jinny? I think I would trust your mother before that old fool."

She blushed with pleasure. "Yes, sur. I'll go right off. She'll be that glad to come." She started as if to go and then looked at her own baby.

"I'll see she comes to no harm," Ross said.

She glanced at him a moment and then snatched up her white bonnet and left the kitchen.

Ross walked into the low hall, stood at the foot of the stairs, disliked the silence, went into the parlor and poured himself a glass of brandy, watched Jinny's brisk figure dwindling toward Mellin, returned to the kitchen. Little Kate had not moved but lay on her back kicking and crowing and laughing at him. The mite was nine months old and had never seen its father, who was serving a two-year sentence in Bodmin Jail for poaching. Unlike the two eldest, who took after their father, little Kate was a true Martin: sandy hair, blue eyes, tiny freckles already mottling the bridge of her button nose.

The fire had not been lighted that morning, and there was no sign of breakfast. Ross raked the ashes, but they were dead; he picked up some kindling wood and set about lighting it, wondering irritably where Jud had gone. There must be hot water, he knew, and towels and basins. Nothing was being prepared down there. Damn Choake for his impertinence, not even waiting to see him before he left.

Relations between the two men had been cool for some time. Ross disliked his inane wife, who had gossiped and whispered about Demelza, and when Ross disliked someone, he found it hard to hide the fact. He fumed that he should be at the mercy of the obstinate, stiff-necked, unprogressive old fool who was the only physician within miles.

As the fire began to take Jud came in, and wind came with him and rushed around the kitchen.

"Thur's something blawing up," he said, eyeing Ross out of bloodshot eyes. "Seen the long black swell, 'ave 'ee?"

Ross nodded impatiently. There had been a heavy groundswell since the previous afternoon.

"Well, tes breaking all ways. Scarcely ever did I see the like. It might be as someone was lashin' of un with a whip. The swell's nigh gone and the sea's all licky-white like Joe Triggs's beard."

"Keep your eye on Kate, Jud," Ross said. "Make some breakfast in the meantime. I am going upstairs."

*

At the back of his mind, Ross was aware of the sound of wind rushing about in the distance. Once, when he glanced out of the bedroom window, his eyes confirmed that the swell had, in fact, quite broken up and the sea was stippled with white-lipped waves, which crossed and recrossed each other in confusion, running heedlessly, colliding, and breaking up into wisps of futile spray. The wind was as yet only gusty on the land, but here and there eddies rushed over the water, little winds, vicious and lost.

While he was there Demelza made a big effort to be normal, but he saw that she wished him gone. He could not help her.

Disconsolate, he went down again and was in time to greet Mrs. Zacky Martin, Jinny's mother. Flat-faced, competent, bespectacled, and sneezing, she came into the kitchen with a brood of five small children dragging at her heels, talking to them, chiding them, explaining to Ross that she had no one to trust them with—Jinny's two eldest and her three youngest—greeting Jud and asking after Prudie, commenting on the smell of frying pork, inquiring about the patient, saying she had a touch of ague herself but had taken a posset before leaving, rolling up her sleeves, telling Jinny to put the colewort and the motherwort on to brew, they being better than any doctor's nostrums for easing of the maid, and disappearing up the stairs before anyone else could speak.

There seemed to be a child on every chair in the kitchen. They sat like timid ninepins at a fair, waiting to be knocked off. Jud scratched his head and spat in the fire and swore.


(Continues...)

Excerpted from Poldark Demelza by WINSTON GRAHAM. Copyright © 2015 Winston Graham. Excerpted by permission of Sourcebooks, Inc..
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.

Meet the Author

Winston Graham was the author of forty novels. His books have been widely translated and his famous series has been developed into two television series shown in 24 countries. Winston Graham was a Fellow of the Royal Society of Literature and in 1983 was awarded the OBE.

Customer Reviews

Average Review:

Post to your social network

     

Most Helpful Customer Reviews

See all customer reviews

Demelza: A Novel of Cornwall, 1788-1790 4.6 out of 5 based on 0 ratings. 11 reviews.
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Great reads and escapism, only thing I don't understand is why B&N hasn't made the rest of the series available. I would love to keep going. Winston Graham wrote 40 books, why aren't they available?
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
My husband and I watched this series of adventures on Public Television many years ago. Done by the BBC it was enchanting. We hardly could wait for each episode each Sunday and we are not TV series people. Later I found several of the books but have since moved with the military too many times and have lost them again. This series would be good for young to middle teens as well. Charming characters and good plots plus lots of humor.
jeanniezelos More than 1 year ago
Demelza, A Novel of Cornwall: 1788-1790,  Winston Graham Review from Jeannie Zelos book reviews  Genre:  Women's Fiction, Literature/Fiction (Adult) I adored this series when I first read it back in the seventies, sparked by the TV series. Now its been revised with new actors for TV, and of course the books released on Kindle! Hurrah. I’ve still got my print books, a mix of new and charity shop/eBay/library rejects, but due to loss of vision can’t read such small text now, so it’s been a joy to catch up with the Poldark corner of Cornwall and it’s characters.  The focus this time is on Demelza and how she’s coping with her new position as Ross’ wife. She’s just given birth to their first child and right from the start we see how she is struggling, wanting to fit in with Ross’ place in Society, but still feeling more at home with her former peers. Luckily Ross is at ease with, and respected by them. Verity, his cousin from Trenwith, proves a great help in teaching Demelza how to behave, how to dance, and with sorting out her wardrobe. Demelza comes to love her, she has such an open heart and is so upset when she learns of Verity's failed romance. Of course she can’t help “helping” and causes a huge row from the consequences.  We see too more of the villagers, the tragedy of Mark Daniels and Keren, his flirtatious wife, the mines and the miners and the sheer poverty of life then, how desperate things were for so many families when the mine Grambler closed. It really brings home how hand to mouth living was in those days. There’s snippets of the politics of the era too. Ross is trying to move forward, to make life more secure for his wife and child, and along the way doing what he can to provide work for the locals. Unlike so many in his position he understands them and has sympathies. These bring him into the public eye when he breaks out one of his employees from prison. Poor Jim Carter had gone poaching to feed his family and been caught. Sentenced to two years despite Ross effort’s he’s ill in prison, then he’s transferred to another which is even more dire and full of fever. Ross tries to help but...well, read it and you’ll see ;-) It shows just how compassionate he could be, a fair man, a moral man and so often, as with this event, that brings him on the opposite side to his peers. Its a thin line he treads, and at the end, after an awful personal tragedy he’s facing judgement from them for his actions over something else.  Its a hard book to review as there’s just so much going on. It builds on what’s gone before though, and its easy to follow. Its a fascinating read, and who can’t resist Ross, especially now we’ve the vision of Aiden Turner from the TV series to mull on and swoon over!! It shows us too just how changed Demelza is, how bright to be able to absorb so much learning, to adapt and try to fit in, and of course the passion between the two. They do have some huge blow-ups here, but at the heart of it is a solid enduring love. There’s some real sadness in this book, and when I first read it, ahead of the TV series ( hooked from the first episodes I had to read the first four books which were already out) I was caught by surprise and reduced to tears by one particular part.  If you’re looking for a solid romance, and a story full of history, fabulous characters and realism this series is perfect.     Stars: Five, another fabulous read for keeping and rereading.  ARC supplied by Netgalley and publishers  
shanbritts More than 1 year ago
One of three of the series - I can tell you that even as of today I still think of this book and the people in it. This book will allow you to come into the lives of the story and you will feel as though you are living amoung them - I wish there had been books in the series.
Anonymous 3 months ago
DianaH-Maine More than 1 year ago
I recently read Winston Graham’s POLDARK and DEMELZA. These titles are part of a series written by Mr. Graham about a Cornish family spanning the years 1783-1820. Ross Poldark returns home to Cornwall after a 2 year stint in the British Army fighting in the ‘colonies’ during the American War of Independence. He returns home to his father’s death; an estate in a ruined state; his ‘intended’, Elizabeth, engaged to his cousin, Francis; a depressed economy and poverty for the miners, fishermen and farmers of the region; and rumors of his own demise in America. The story includes copper mining, unethical banking and politics, marrying, family strife, smuggling, poaching, class inequalities, the natural beauty of Cornwall, elopement, epidemic, death, treachery, deceit, duels and sea captains. The books subtlely overpower your life. You are totally engaged in the lives, the struggles, the passions of these characters. I was first aware of this series in the 1970s. I was reading Daphne du Maurier who used Cornwall as a backdrop to several of her brilliant novels. Winston Graham was mentioned in several book lists as another excellent Cornish author. Before I read any of Mr. Graham’s novels, his first 4 Poldark novels were adapted as a BBC TV series running from 1975 to 1977. Masterpiece Theatre broadcast the series in the U.S. in 1976 through 1978. I fell immediately in love - with Cornwall, with Ross Poldark (and with Robin Ellis, the actor who portrayed Ross Poldark), with Demelza Carne, Verity and all the characters. (Well, not the Warleggans!) There is presently a fresh production of the Poldark saga on the BBC and Masterpiece Classic in the U.S. It is just as stunning as the first and I find myself falling in love all over again. Winston Graham lived in Cornwall for 30+ years and his historical Poldark series presents (quite accurately) the wildly fluctuating economic fortunes of the region. Mr. Graham wrote 12 Poldark novels over a span of 40+ years, the last title published in 2002, a year before his death. He wrote many other novels, plays and short stories. His novels are a fantastic read and I plan a Poldark reading marathon this winter. Thank you, Mr. Graham, the BBC and Masterpiece Theatre.
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Anonymous More than 1 year ago