Haggard (24 page)

Then go with them,' Haggard said. There is the door. Get out. You have ten minutes.'

CHAPTER 6

THE BRIDEGROOM

‘
I
've come to say goodbye, Mr. Haggard.' Emma stood in the doorway. She wore her fur-trimmed crimson pelisse with the hood, and carried a single box. Henry Suffolk waited in the hall with two more,
‘I
've taken only a few things. I hope you will not send me away naked.'

Haggard smoked a cheroot and sipped a glass of port. He had adopted this role deliberately. Stupid girl. But was she now trying to appeal to his better nature? 'Take what you will.'

She hesitated, bit her lip. ' Tis the children's clothes as well. I'll fetch them from the school. Will you wish them well?'

Haggard frowned at her. 'You'll not see the children.'

They are my children, Mr. Haggard.'

They are mine, Emma. What would you? Take them off to starve?'

She stared at him, as if unsure what she was hearing.

'Be sure I shall bring them up,' Haggard said. 'Educate them and see to their inheritance. Can you equal that?'

Still she stared at him. A single tear rolled down her left cheek. 'What will you tell them of me?'

‘I
will think up something,' he said. Give in, you silly girl. Throw yourself at my feet and beg my forgiveness. You shall have it. But give in. 'What will you do?'

'I'll manage, Mr. Haggard.' Her cheeks were pink.

'By whoring? Not in Derleth.'

'I'll not stay in Derleth, Mr. Haggard.'

But she had not denied what she might have to do to keep from starving. Haggard felt in his pocket, took out a handful of golden guineas, threw them on the desk. 'You'll need money.'

Emma's chin came up. 'Not your money, Mr. Haggard.'

'You've some of your own?'

But now she was as angry as he.
‘I
will manage, Mr. Haggard. I'll bid you goodbye.'

'Close the door,' Haggard said. But she left it open, and he heard her heels on the stairs.
He picked up the half empty bottl
e
n
of port, hurled it across the room, watched it shatter on the wall and scatter on the floor, leaving red liquid everywhere. The stupid little bitch. Why did he not run after her and seize her and carry her up to their bedroom, and love her into some sense?

Because he did not wish to. This crisis had loomed too long, and now it was of her making. She was gone, and he was free. Free, he thought. Free.

So then, are you a bad man, John Haggard? How could you be otherwise, as your name is Haggard, as you are a slave owner? Oh, do not condemn John Haggard. Chief Justice Mansfield's own words. He was but bom to a place in life and has lived that place to its hilt. By God, they'd not seen how he'd live that place. Not
yet.

He got up, walked to the study window, watched them trailing down the drive. Emma walked at the back; John Essex carried her box; the children's had been left in the front hall. Would she really walk away without seeing them? And did it matter?

Their shoes left footprints in the snow. And he was free.

MacGuinness coughed in the doorway. 'I've a list here, Mr. Haggard.'

'I wish no list, MacGuinness. Just have the house stocked with staff.'

'Yes, sir.' MacGuinness twisted his hat between his hands. 'About a valet, sir, it'll take time.'

'Then take your time. I am returning to London tomorrow. Simpson is there.'

'Yes, sir, Mr. Haggard. Then there's a suitable cook . . . well, sir, Mistress MacGuinness was wondering if you'd care to sup wi' us this night.'

'I'll not go out,' Haggard said. 'Surely you can find someone in the village, even if it's temporary.'

'Oh, aye, Mr. Haggard.' Once again the twist of the hat. 'About the girl, Margaret Lacey. Do you wish her back?'

Haggard frowned. He'd be sleeping alone this night. Margaret Lacey. But did he want her, having had her? She was the sort of woman who would soon wish to dominate. And did he want her at all? Emma was gone. The weight was gone. He was more free than he had ever been in his life, he realised. Free to marry whom he liked. How his heart pounded at the thought of it.

And free, this night, to
do
what he liked. If he dared. But who would say him nay? He was John Haggard. A mean, vicious man. A slave owner. A very devil, as the London mob had called him.

‘I’ll
think about it,' he said.

'Yes, sir, Mr. Haggard.' MacGuinness closed the door behind him. Haggard waited for five minutes, until he heard the gentle clop of the hooves on the drive, then he got up and opened the door, remembered that Suffolk would not be there. He pulled the bell rope, and after a few minutes one of the downstairs maids came scurrying up.

'Yes, sir, Mr. Haggard.' She panted, and was clearly terrified.

'Fetch my hat and coat,' Haggard said. 'And tell Ned to saddle my horse. Not the one I rode from London.'

'Yes, sir, Mr. Haggard.' She scurried off again. A young girl, but plump and perspiring. As if it mattered, when compared with what he had in mind. If he dared.

He went downstairs, and his outdoor clothes were waiting; the girl had reinforced herself with two others. No doubt they all knew how he had laid Margaret Lacey within twenty-four hours of arriving here. Or perhaps they were afraid he would throw them into the snow as well.

He mounted, nodded to Ned, the head groom, who waited patiently if resentfully in the cold—he had been growing fond of Miss Dearborn. He walked his horse out of the drive and up the slope, slowly, nonchalantly, a squire going over to inspect his new hall.

The workmen touched their hats, gazed at him surreptitiously as he rode on. The rumour of what had happened was spreading. He found Nash seated at a trestle table poring over his plans, a clerk at his side; the architect had taken a room at the inn to be near his greatest project.

'Cold, Mr. Haggard,' he said. 'Damn near freezing.'

‘I’m
here for a progress report,' Haggard said. 'Not a lecture.'

'Aye, Mr. Haggard. You're not a man for lectures,' Nash agreed. 'Well, sir, the foundations are going in, as you see. But 'tis a long and difficult task. You'd have done better to wait until the summer.'

'You'd do better to finish the job, Mr. Nash, and leave the worrying to me. When will you complete?'

'Ah, well, we're talking about next autumn at the earliest.'

'A year?' Haggard demanded. 'To build me a house?'

‘I
wouldn't exactly call this a house, Mr. Haggard. And to get it right will take time.'

Six more months, Haggard thought, as he turned his horse and rode away. But probably that was all to the good. Six months, of courting Alison Brand. Time enough. She'd be eighteen. There was a better age to be married. And I'll be nearly forty, he realised. But still young. Still virile. Still crying out for womanhood, as he did now.

And perhaps, after six months, he'd have exorcised this demon in his belly. Perhaps he could do it now. If he dared.

He turned into the cut between the hills, rode on to the mine. It was nearly dark now and the air was biting at his ears and nose.

'Mr. Haggard, sir.' The foreman touched his forelock. 'Bitter weather.'

'Aye,' Haggard said. 'But I'm told there's a summer in this country.' He was amazed at the evenness of his voice, while his throat was clogged and his heart was pounding. If he dared. 'When do they knock off?'

'Aye, well, I was about to ring the bell, Mr. Haggard.'

Then do so.' Haggard dismounted, stretched his legs, listened to the clanging. 'How far down do they go?'

'A hundred foot and more, Mr. Haggard. But they hear the bell.'

Haggard stood above the ladder, watched the first heads beginning to appear in the cold dusk. As usual, the men came first. They glanced at Haggard in surprise, one or two touched their foreheads, the rest put on their coats and made their grimy way back down the road to the village. And they had accused him of being a slave owner, Haggard thought bitterly. Was he not just as much a slave owner now? Only this was legal. He paid these people, just enough to live on, so they would have to continue working. And as he was here at all, they were as much his to do what he wished with as any black in Barbados.

Saving only his own conscience. Well, he had had a conscience in Barbados too, and that had prevented him from ever giving way to any of his excessive moods. Until Emma. Then it had been Emma herself, keeping him in check. But now she too was gone, and he was a free man. So, the devil with his conscience. He was here for a purpose.

The children clambered out of the pithead, bobbed their heads anxiously at the squire. Ten and eleven, he estimated their ages. In the main. But as he remembered from that first day, there were others. It was difficult to decide looks, the possibility of beauty, in the dusk and the dirt. He waited for them all to get out, the older ones bringing up the rear. 'You,' he said.

They all stopped, and turned, insensibly huddling closer together. Haggard pointed. 'I mean you.'

The girl looked behind her in confusion. She was one of the oldest of the children, going on her size. She was the one he especially remembered; he was sure of that. She had yellow hair, matted and coated with dust, and was somewhat taller than her companions. She had breasts, too, to which the dust clung entrancingly, and a pouting belly, and narrow thighs. It was impossible to decide whether or not there was pubic hair, because of the dust which coated her belly. But she had good legs, long for her body and sturdy. Coal dust dribbled down them as she shivered.

'What is your name?' Haggard asked, heart pounding fit to burst.

'Mary, your worship. Mary Prince.'

'There's a pretty name,' he said,
‘I
am short of a parlour maid at the Hall, Mary Prince. Would you like the job?'

'I'd have to ask me mum, your worship.'

'Would you like the job, Mary Prince?'

'Oh, aye, your worship. But I'll have . . .'

'First let's see you know what you're at,' Haggard said, and indicated his horse. 'You can mount up behind me.'

She gaped at him, mouth open, then she looked down at herself. 'I'm that dirty, your worship.'

'Clean dirt,' he said. 'Ha ha.' God, how he wished he could snap his fingers and transport them both to the privacy of his bedchamber, away from the staring eyes, from the foreman's sly grin. But he'd not give up now. He was Haggard. Nothing he could ever do in the future would change that simple fact, for these people, for everyone in England. Not to behave like Haggard would do him no good, and leave him without any pleasure at all. Besides, this was something he
wanted,
as he had not wanted since seeing Emma for the first time. Everything he had done, almost everything he thought, he realised, since arriving in this misbegotten land, had been conditioned by this single overwhelming want.

He swung himself into the saddle. 'Come along, Mary Prince.'

She glanced at her companions once again, then at the foreman, who shrugged. She put on her threadbare cloak, and approached the animal. Haggard put down his arm for her.

'I'll dirty your clothes, your worship.'

'I have others,' Haggard said.

Her fingers closed on his arm and he lifted her from the ground. He felt her hands on his back.

'Hold me round the waist,' he said.

Her arms went round his waist, and he looked down on her hands, clasped together in front of him. They were dirty hands, but well shaped. He looked to either side, saw a long coal dust stained leg dangling there. She was sitting astride, wearing nothing but a cloak.

He kicked the horse forward, and they trotted down the road. Behind them the other children walked, still staring.

'How old are you, Mary Prince?' Haggard asked.

'I'm thirteen, your worship.'

Younger even than Emma had been, Haggard thought. But they were already through the gap, arid there were candles burning in the Hall windows. Haggard rode up the drive, dismounted by swinging his right leg over the horse's head, held up his hands for the girl. She swung her leg over in turn, dropped on to him; he caught her under the armpits and set her on the ground. For a moment she leaned against him, then hastily stepped back.

Ned was there, taking the horse's bridle. He did not speak, merely touched his hat. Haggard held the girl's arm, took her into the lower hall. The maids came scurrying, out of the pantry, gathered in a group at the far end.

Haggard nodded to them. 'I will need a hot bath,' he said. 'For this young lady. Start boiling up. Half an hour.'

'Yes, sir, Mr. Haggard.' They continued to stare. Haggard released Mary Prince's arm, indicated the stairs. She peered at the other girls for a moment—no doubt she knew them all, as they knew her—then scurried up the steps. Coal dust scattered on to the floor.

Haggard walked behind her. 'And the next flight,' he said, as she paused on the landing. She looked down at him, then resumed her climb. He watched her feet disappearing above his head. He was back in Haggard's Penn, with Emma and Annie Kent above him. Emma and Annie Kent. He wondered where they were now, what they were doing. What they were thinking. But with this girl there would be no need for ropes. And no risk of daggers after.

'Father.' Alice ran along the corridor, Charlie as usual tumbling at her heels. 'Father.' Her cheeks were stained with tears. 'Mama was at school to say goodbye.'

'She said she was going away,' Charlie accused.

'She has gone away,' Haggard said.

They stopped, faces slowly crumpling.

'Your mother has gone away,' Haggard repeated. 'It was her choice. But you're here with me. There is naught to concern yourselves with. There is cake for your tea.'

He reached the second floor, looked down. They stared after him, tears running down their cheeks. He realised he did not even know the name of their new nurse. But he had no time for them this night. Mary Prince was waiting, hands clasped in front of her, looking at the dust which was gathering about her.

'I'm awful dirty, your worship.'

The floor can be cleaned.' He stepped past her, opened the bedroom door. 'In here.'

She hesitated, then stepped past him. Haggard closed the door.

Take off your cloak.' His voice was thick as he lit the candle, set it on the table, turned to face her. She held the cloak in her hands, uncertain where to lay it. The floor will do.'

The cloak slipped to the floor. She faced him, inhaling slowly. Suddenly he did not know how to continue, what her reaction was going to be. Slowly he took off his own coat, pulled his cravat free. He watched her tongue come out, lick coal dust from her lips.

'I'm awful dirty,' she said again.

'Yes,' he said. That's what I want from you. Dirt.' He undressed, quickly, while she stood there and gazed at him. 'Have you seen a man before?'

'I've seen me dad,' she said.

He realised with a disturbing start that her dad was probably no older than himself. But nothing would stop him now. Haste, haste, haste. He stripped off his stockings, threw them behind his shoes, took her in his arms. Coal dust, and woman, clutched against him. Her breasts were big enough to feel, her groin squirmed against his, trapping his penis between, bringing it even harder. He threw her on the bed, lay on her. She tried to kiss him but he did not want to kiss. He thrust his hands beneath her, held her buttocks, lifted her up while he found her slit and drove himself inwards. He waited for a cry or a moan, and found only her eyes, huge and glooming at him, and her mouth, vaguely open, and coal dust, scattering across the snow-white sheets. He came in a tremendous explosion of pent-up passion and anger and self-disgust, throbbed on her belly for some seconds, then lay on it, listened to her gasping for breath.

He rolled away from her, lay on his back. Christ, he thought. What have I done? He had not thought that for a very long time

Mary Prince sat up. 'Must I go, now, sir?'

Haggard turned his head, frowned at her. Sanity was back in control, and it was necessary to lay plans, correct mistakes. He got up, went to his trousers, felt in the pockets, discovered a guinea. He held it out, and she stared at it for a moment before taking it.

'You'll be a housemaid here,' he said. 'And every time you . . . you come in here with me, I'll give you one of those.'

'Cor,' Mary said, and lifted it up to give it a gentle bite.
‘
Cor. Me mum will like that.'

'You'll not tell your mum,' Haggard said. 'Or there'll be no more guineas. You'll tell her I offered you a job, here.'

Her head lifted; the coin was already secured inside her fist.

'Do you understand me, Mary?'

'Yes, sir, your worship.' She stood up.

There's a bath waiting for you, downstairs. Have it. Then tell the girls to find you something to wear. Then you can go home and explain to your mum.'

'Yes, sir, your worship.'

Haggard looked down at himself. Coal dust stained his chest, his belly, his penis. Something he had wanted since he had first seen those children. Something he now had experienced.

Then what had she experienced? Why, nothing at all. She was stooping to pick up her coat; there was no blood, and she had shown no discomfort. Thirteen years old?

'Who've you known before?'

She straightened. 'Well, your worship, we all sleeps in the one bed . . .'

Haggard frowned at her. 'You've brothers?' 'Oh no, your worship. Just me sister, and me mum and dad.' 'By Christ,' Haggard said. 'By Christ.' He sat on the bed. 'But I'll not tell me dad,' Mary Prince said,
‘I
'll not give him the money.'

'Aye,' Haggard said. 'You keep the money. We'll share a secret, Mary.'

'Yes, sir, your worship.' She looked pleased.

And I am dirty, Haggard thought. Dirty, dirty, dirty. 'When you go down, Mary,' he said, 'tell the girls to send me up a hot bath as well.'

As if it mattered. Had he not always known that incest was a fact of life in the logies at Haggard's Penn? That these people happened to have white skins was irrelevant, however much it had confused
him.
He was John Haggard. He was, in the eyes of English public opinion, the greatest blackguard on earth. He need fear the criticism of no man, after that.

Then what of woman? This he must find out. But he could not do so while looking over his shoulder. And how he wanted her, now. Because she was beautiful, and because she was of his own class, and because she would not submit to his every wish. And because she was clean. There was an indictment of his past relationships with women.

The grooms took his bridle, and he dismounted, stiffly. He had ridden from Derleth at the same breakneck speed, after only a day at home. Each muscle in his body seemed to have a life of its own; he had not even been to his rooms to change. It occurred to him that since arriving in England he had been doing little but galloping from here to there, pursuing, or running, chasing the Haggard image, or attempting to escape it. Now was a time to call a halt, to settle his life into the calm, confident, omnipotent mould he had known in Barbados. And the first essential towards accomplishing that goal was to have at his side a wife who would support him in everything he wished.

'Mr. Haggard, sir,' said the butler. 'Will you come up, please?'

Haggard gave his hat and coat and riding crop to a footman, followed the butler up the stairs. Alison waited at the top; she wore a pale blue gown with a niched hem, and her hair was loose.

'Mr. Haggard. Is all well at Derleth?' Her tone suggested genuine interest.

Haggard took her hand and kissed it. How good she smelt. He had never known a woman with so beautiful a scent. 'All is well, Alison. All is better than it has ever been.'

She gave him a quick frown, then gently extracted her hand from his, led him into the withdrawing room. 'You'll take a glass?'

‘I
n fifteen minutes.'

She nodded, thoughtfully. 'You'll bring in some wine, Partridge. In fifteen minutes.'

'Of course, Miss Alison.' Partridge closed the doors behind him.

Alison stood before the fire, facing Haggard. Her hands were clasped before her. 'You look like a man who has ridden all night.'

‘I
have ridden all night.' He stepped closer. 'Alison, I wish you to marry me.'

'Mr. Haggard?' She sounded genuinely shocked, and Haggard, reaching for her, checked.

‘I
had supposed you regarded me with some favour.'

'I do. But . . . you have not spoken with Papa.'

‘I
am a Barbadian, remember.' He held her hands, brought them towards him, pressed together,
‘I
must have an assent from your lips, not forced by your father.'

She smiled. 'My father would force me into nothing, Mr. Haggard.'

'Well, then . . .'

‘I
have explained to you my feelings, Mr. Haggard.' She did not - seek to free herself, this time.

'And I have understood them, Alison. Listen. You will have heard I am building a new house?'

'All
London has heard that, Mr. Haggard. At outrageous expense.'

'A house fit only for the most beautiful girl in the country, Alison. A house being built especially for you. And you will be mistress of it, Alison. No one else.'

Alison freed her hands, very gently, sat down in the chair by the fire. 'And the present manor house?'

'I shall probably pull it down. The new one will be complete by the autumn. We could be married then.'

Alison appeared to consider. Then she raised her head, looked directly into his eyes. 'What has happened to Miss Dearborn?'