Read Online Ross Poldark by Winston Graham - Free Book Online Page A

splash behind him told him that Francis was off the ladder and following.
    The walls here were streaming with brown and green stained water, and in some places the roof was so low that they had to bend to get through. The air was foul and dank, and once or twice the candles flickered as if about to go out. Francis caught up with his cousin where the tunnel widened into a cavern. Ross was peering at the wall where an excavation had been begun.
    “See this,” Ross said, pointing. “See this streak of tin showing between the mundic. They chose their level wrong. We know how big the jumps have been at Grambler.”
    Francis wet his finger in the water and rubbed the rock where the faint dark mottling of tin showed.
    “And what then? You haven’t seen our cost sheets at Grambler since you returned? The profits have a shy fancy to leap to the wrong side of the ledger.”
    “At Grambler,” said Ross, “you have driven too deep. Those engines were costing a fortune when I left.”
    “They do not burn coal,” said Francis. “They eat it as a donkey would eat strawberries. ‘Munch,’ and they’re braying for more.”
    “Here a small engine would do. This level is workable even without pumping.”
    “Don’t forget it is the autumn.”
    Ross turned and stared down at the black, foul water above his knees, then looked again at the roof. Francis was right. They had only been able to come this far because of the dryness of the summer. The water was rising now. In another few days, perhaps even hours, it would not be possible to get back.
    “Ross,” said the other man. “You heard, did you not, that I was to be married next week?”
    Ross gave up his peering and straightened. He was about three inches taller than his cousin. “Verity told me.”
    “Um. She said too that you didn’t wish to attend the wedding.”
    “Oh… it isn’t that in so many words. But with one thing and another… My house is like the Sack of Carthage. Besides, I was never one for ceremonies. Let us go on a little. I wonder if it might not be possible to unwater all these old workings by means of an adit driven from the low ground beyond Marasanvose.”
    After a few seconds Francis followed his cousin.
    The flickering light of the two candles bobbed about, throwing back the darkness here and there, drawing smoky shadows to follow and casting odd grotesque reflections on the bottle-dark water.
    Soon the tunnel contracted until it became egg-shaped, about four feet six inches high and not above three feet across at the widest part. It had in fact been cut just big enough to allow the passage of a man pushing a wheelbarrow and bending his head over it. The water came to just below the widest part of the egg, and here the walls were worn smooth with the rubbing of long-forgotten elbows.
    Francis began to feel the need of air, the need to straighten his bent back, the weight of thousands of tons of rock above his head.
    “You must, of course, come to the wedding,” he said, raising his voice. His candle was sputtering with a drop of water that had fallen on it. “We should be greatly upset if you did not.”
    “Nonsense. The countryside will soon tire of talking about it.”
    “You’re damned insulting today. It's our wish that you should come. Mine and—”
    “And Elizabeth's?”
    “She especially asked that you should.”
    Ross checked a sentence on his tongue. “Very well. At what time?”
    “Noon. George Warleggan is to be my groomsman.”
    “George Warleggan?”
    “Yes. Had I known that you—”
    “You see, the ground is rising a little. We’re turning north now.”
    “We don’t intend to have a big wedding,” Francis said. “Just our families and a few friends. Cousin William-Alfred will officiate and Mr. Odgers will assist him. Ross, I wished to explain—”
    “The air is improving here,” Ross said grimly, pushing his way round an awkward corner of the confined tunnel and bringing down a shower of loose stones