Haggard (28 page)

'Emma Dearborn is no lady, MacGuinness. She was transported for theft. You want to remember that. See that it is done, MacGuinness.'

MacGuinness sighed, and nodded. 'As you wish, Mr. Haggard. I'll discourage them. You'll excuse me.'

He receded into the crowd, and Haggard took another glass of champagne. Emma, and a tinker. He had not been so angry since Mansfield had given judgement for Middlesex. A tinker, an itinerant who probably never washed and was riddled with the clap. My God, how low, and how quickly, could a woman sink. Had this Bold also been in the crowd? He would have been standing next to Emma, of course. But he had not noticed him.

'Father.'

Roger looked unnaturally solemn. Now, how long had he been there? Haggard rumpled his son's hair. 'You've been at the champagne, I'll wager. And why not, on this occasion?'

'Father. Is it true that Emma has come back?'

Haggard frowned at him. 'You've been eavesdropping. That's no occupation for a gentleman.'

‘I
'm sorry, Father. I just couldn't help overhearing. You won't harm her, Father?'

'Now don't you trouble yourself with Emma, Roger. You have a mother now. A proper mother.'

'She's only two years older than I,' Roger protested.

'All the better. You'll be friends as well. As for Emma, you want to forget her. It's I have to apologise to you, boy, for inflicting her upon you all these years. But there it is. A man does many stupid things.'

'Inflicting her on me?' Roger cried. Then what of Alice and Charlie?'

They're my children,' Haggard said. 'And I love them dearly. Not so dearly as you, maybe, but just the same . . . you'll not mention their mother to them. It would only make them unhappy.'

Roger gazed at him for a moment. 'You're going to send her away, again.'

'Of course I am. We don't want Emma lurking behind every bush in Derleth, now do we?' 'And suppose she won't go?'

Haggard smiled, and slapped his son on the shoulder. 'She'll go, Roger. She'll go. I'm having MacGuinness see to that. There's naught for you to concern yourself with. Now come along and we'll have another glass.' He slapped him on the shoulder once more. 'She'll go.'

At last. After four interminable hours of speechmaking and drinking and dancing, of coarse jokes and coarser allusions, the time was come. The bouquet had been thrown, expertly into the arms of Emily, and the bride had been removed up the stairs to her bedchamber. Convention demanded the groom should be elsewhere, and Haggard had been escorted along the upper gallery of the house proper to one of the guest bedrooms, where his clothes had been ripped off and a nightshirt dropped over his shoulders, to the accompaniment of a good deal more ribaldry, and now he had to run the gauntlet of the entire assembly of guests, through the ballroom, while his back was slapped and his nightcap was whisked away and people trod on his toes and shouted obscene remarks at him. But he cared for none of them. After an eternity of waiting, and wanting, all of that beauty was to be his.

Hands assisted him up the stairs, many of them female, lubricated by the wine and the champagne and the sense of occasion, slapping and squeezing his thighs, seeking to do more and one certainly succeeding with a blow which had him gasping for pain. Then he was in the doorway, being greeted by the shrill cries of the ladies who had acted as maids, and gazing at Alison, sitting up in bed, a bed jacket over her nightgown to assist her modesty, her golden hair loose and resting on her shoulders, her cheeks pink, her mouth slightly open, with just a trace of equally pink tongue. All his.

Words swirled around his head, but he heard none of them. He had himself had far too much to drink. But he could concentrate, on what was about to come into his possession. He laughed with the crowd, and endured the handshakings and the back slappings, and suddenly found Alice thrust into his arms.

'You'll say good-night to your father, Alice.' Thus Mistress Wring.

Haggard hugged the girl, kissed her on both cheeks, did the same for Charlie.

'Where's Roger, then?' he demanded, his voice thick.

'Roger?' They looked from left t6 right. 'Where's Roger Haggard?'

'Slumped in a corner, no doubt, full of champagne,' Brand said. 'Weil find him, John. But it's bed for you.'

'Aye,' Haggard said. 'When you've all left.'

'We're to see the consummation,' someone said, very drunk.

'You'll not.' Haggard bundled them towards the door.

' 'Tis the fashion,' a lady cried.

'You'll not rob us of sport,' a voice complained.

'Have your sport downstairs,' Haggard suggested. 'Consummate anything you like.' He pushed the last protesting body through the door, slammed it shut, turned the key, and leaned against it. 'Christ, what a rout.'

'Was it not like this at your first wedding?' Alison asked.

'Oh, aye. But I was younger then.' He frowned,
‘I
'm sorry. I'd not meant to remind you of that.'

'Of what?'

He crossed the room, slowly. He supposed she could see the thrust of his penis almost coming through the linen nightshirt. 'Of the difference in our ages.'

Alison smiled at him. 'I'd surely not wish to find myself in bed with any tyro.'

She was his. He sat on the bed, took her in his arms. She came to him. slowly, and he kissed her on the mouth; while he did so he reached up and slipped the cap from her head, stroked the hair, held her close, felt the touch of her tongue entering his mouth, reluctantly released her as she slid away, frowned at her expression. For just a moment her face had been filled with distaste, even a suggestion of repulsion. But then she smiled, and was as lovely as ever.

'Be gentle with me, Mr. Haggard,' she whispered.

Roger Haggard lay in his bed and listened to the sounds of revelry coming from the ballroom. He would not have slept in any event, not only on account of the noise, but because he was still not used to his new bedroom, so much grander than the one at the old Hall. But tonight there was no chance of sleeping, anyway. Emma was here. She had not disappeared, as Father would have it. She was here, to watch her lover be married. Then she must love him still. Then everything Father had told him, and Alice and Charlie, must have been a lie.

Because of Alison Brand. What hold could she have over Father, to make him do such a terrible thing? But he had done it, and now he was going to send Emma away again, without allowing her to see them, breaking up her wagon—why Emma should be travelling in a wagon was beyond his comprehension—perhaps even injuring her.

He sat up, heart pounding. Father himself had always drummed into him, do what you know is right, without looking right or left, without hesitating. Obeying that simple precept had involved him in more fights than any other boy at Eton. But it had also earned him total respect far more quickly than any other new boy, as well. And Father would himself agree, whenever he escaped from Alison's power. Because it had to be some sort of power. There was simply no other explanation.

He thrust his feet out of bed, dragged on his clothes, carried his shoes in his hand. He opened the door; there was no diminution in the music, the raised voices and the laughter coming from below him; the celebrations were not likely to end before dawn. He tiptoed along the corridor, went into Alice's room, drew the drapes and shook his sister by the shoulder. 'Ally. Wake up.'

She grunted, rolled towards him, and opened her eyes to peer into the darkness. 'Who is it?'

'Me, stupid. Listen. Get up, and get dressed.'

Alice Haggard pushed hair from her eyes. 'Whatever for?'

'I'll tell you later. Just do it. I'm going to wake Charlie. No noise, now. Wait for us here.'

Charlie's room was immediately beyond. He got his brother out of bed, helped him dress, then they both returned to Alice; she was also dressed and waiting for them, sitting on the side of her bed and yawning,
‘I
don't understand. I was fast asleep.'

'Listen,' Roger said. 'Emma is in Derleth.'

'Emma? Mama?' Alice's voice rose.

'Ssssh. Yes. She was in the crowd at the wedding.'

'But Father said . . .'

'Never mind what Father said. She was there. But she's going to be sent away again, tonight. Would you like to see her?'

'Mama,' Charlie said, and began to cry. 'Mama.'

'Be quiet,' Roger insisted. 'Or I'll leave you behind. Come along now. Follow me. But be
quiet.'

He opened the bedroom door, stepped into the empty corridor, listened; all sound was submerged by the cacophony from the ballroom. And most of the servants would be there too. He turned to his right, away from the main part of the house, went along the back staircase, cautiously made his way down. Here there were candles burning in their holders along the walls, and the smells of habitation; they were close to the pantries. But there was not a soul in sight. Down the next flight he went, to reach the ground floor. The side door stood wide, allowing the night air to drift in and send the candle flames guttering, throwing huge shadows against the wall and across the floor.

'Ooooh.' Alice grabbed his hand. 'It's scary.'

'Ssssh,' Roger commanded, and looked out of the door. To his left the blaze of light from the ballroom threw itself across the front garden and the carriage park, absolutely filled with equipages in neat rows. To his right the crowded stables, containing several times their usual number of inhabitants, were seething with restless movements. But the grooms and yard boys had been given the night off, and were all at the inn in the village; from down the hill there was more distant carousing. The only danger lay in crossing the yard immediately by the house, lit by the glow from the ballroom; the rest of the drive was in darkness.

'Now when I say the word,' Roger said, 'run across the light. Quickly now.'

They nodded, got their breathing under control, and heard Rufus growl. The mastiff came slowly round the corner of the house, no doubt seeking some relief from the noise. Now he stood facing the door, front legs spread, nostrils twitching as his teeth bared.

it's me, silly.' Roger
said, and the dog came forward,
wagging his entire rear quarters, to have his head stroked. 'You'll come with us,' Roger decided: For to tell the truth he
had
been a little apprehensive of exploring Derleth Valley in the dark. 'But you mustn't bark. Promise?'

Rufus licked his hand and panted.

'Come along now,' Roger said. 'All together. Go.'

The children dashed across the lighted area. Rufus gave a joyous yelp and ran behind them, barking excitedly; midnight games were something he had always wanted to enjoy. They tumbled into the darkness, hid behind the last of the berlins, crouched there panting. Rufus lay down beside them.

'Oh
Rufus,'
Roger said.

'They must have heard that din,' Alice pointed out.

But amazingly no one came out to discover what was exciting the dog. Derleth Hall was not concerned with intruders this night.

'Come on,' Roger said, and led them into the darkness, walking now so that Rufus would have no more excuses for barking. They made their way down the drive, reached the road leading to the village. 'A wagon,' Roger said. 'She's in a wagon.'

'I saw a wagon parked in the meadow behind the church,' Alice said. 'When we were there this afternoon.'

'That must be it. Weil cross the cemetery.'

Now Rufus led the way, apparently knowing where they were going. The children huddled behind, casting nervous glances at the headstones, at the willows which loomed above the church. There was no moon, and the night was very dark.

'It's scary.' Charlie kept saying.

'We can't come to any harm with Rufus here,' Roger promised him. 'Rufus would never let anyone hurt us." But he was grateful to discover the end of the trees and the low wall which marked the limit of the church property. And there was a wagon, pa
rked by the remains of a fire, its horse
hobbled a little distance away, raising its head to give a nervous whinny as it scented the dog.

'Who's there?' a man called.

Roger inhaled, stepped away from the wall, Alice and Charlie at his hack. 'Roger Haggard.'

'Haggard?' Now they could see the man, leaning over the tailgate of the wagon, just as they could make out the pots and pans and other goods dangling from the roof above him. 'Keep that dog away from my horse.'

Roger snapped his fingers. 'Come here, Rufe. Come on, boy.'

Rufus returned, tail wagging.