Haggard (53 page)

'And do you not suppose it would be'a good idea for you to visit Margaret? A kindness?'

'Oh, hush, for God's sake,' he would cry, his alarm almost feminine. 'She knows, don't you see? She knows I am a coward. Christ, how that thought haunts me. She knows.'

That you are a coward, Johnnie boy. Therefore why do I waste my energy in thinking of you? Why do I count upon you as my ultimate weapon against Father?

She had left the mine and the factory far behind, emerged beyond the hills and now looked down on the trees. She was at the limit of Derleth, and would soon be entering Plowding. She had refused to bring Roger. But why did she not turn to Roger for support, as he had offered, or for the implementation of her vengeance? Because she knew he was too like his father? Because the years of discipline and comradeship in the Army had changed him, and he was no longer the determined rebel of his boyhood?

A rabbit started out of the underbush beneath her horse's hooves. Sparkle gave a terrified neigh, rose on her hind legs; desperately Alice shortened her rein, at the same time giving an instinctive flick of her riding crop against the horse's haunches. Sparkle gave another shriek of terror, and leapt forward; Alice had to throw herself flat on the mare's neck to avoid being swept away by the first low branch which removed her hat. 'Sparkle,' she shouted. 'Whoa, girl. Whoa, Sparkle.'

But the mare had seized the bit and was not going to be checked. Through the trees she stampeded, throwing her body this way and that to avoid injury, throwing Alice this way and that as well. She abandoned all idea of riding, and grasped the horn of her saddle. Her left foot came out of the stirrup and for some seconds she clung on by a sheer act of will. Dimly she heard shouts and the drumming of other hooves, then she could no longer keep her seat; the saddle slid sideways and she felt herself hurtling through the air for a moment before she struck the ground, landing, amazingly, on her feet, which immediately gave way beneath the impact. She hit the ground with her knees, rolled over twice, seemed to see a tree trunk hurtling towards her, and knew nothing.

For some seconds. Surely it had been nothing more than that. Her eyes opened and she was aware only of pain, in her legs, certainly, but that was nothing compared with the pain in her head. It seemed that a giant was standing immediately behind her, hitting her with a hammer. She screamed with the agony, closed her eyes, opened them again. Through the pain haze she gazed at men. One man. Peter Wring. Thank God for Peter Wring. But there were others. Two men. Three men. Four men. Five men.

She lay on the ground, surrounded by five men. Memory of the stammered tale Meg had told, of the horror which had imprinted itself on her brain, came rushing back to her, mingling with the pain. She would be raped, by five men, just as Meg had been.

By Father's gamekeepers? Her eyes opened again, and she stared at them in horror.

'Miss Alice?' Peter Wring's voice seemed to come from a far way away.

'Don't touch me,' she said. At least, she meant to speak. But apparently she shouted. His head jerked, and fresh waves of pain crashed through her brain.

'You're hurt, Miss Alice,' another man said. Another rapist. Another of Father's henchmen. 'We must get you back to the Hall.'

'Don't touch me,' she screamed. 'Don't touch me.' What to do? If only the pain would stop. If only she could think. They would rape her. There was an end to the matter. She was too tired, too much in pain to fight them. No doubt Meg had felt the same. Therefore she too would have to be avenged. She felt their hands on her arms and others on her thighs. Oh, God, she thought, it was beginning. 'Don't touch me,' she screamed, and lost them in a wave of blackness.

Seconds, only seconds. Her eyes were opened, and the giant was back, hitting her and hitting her and hitting her. Oh, God, if only he would stop. And there were people all around her. Men, about to rape her. Peter Wring. 'Don't touch me,' she screamed. 'Oh, don't touch me.'

'Alice?' Father's voice, coming from a very long way away. She opened her eyes, and he was there. Father, helping his game keepers rape his own daughter. She had known all along it would come to that.

'Oh, God,' she whispered. 'Oh, God,' she screamed. 'Help me.' Desperately she turned her head, left and right, stared at Roger. Roger too. But that was obvious. Roger was Father's son. Roger was as much Father's creature as Peter Wring. Roger would soon enough be laying his body on top of hers, with Father. 'Don't touch me,' she screamed. 'Oh, leave me alone.'

'A sprained ankle, and a twisted knee,' said Dr. Harrowby. 'Nothing more than that Mr. Haggard. At least, nothing that I can see.'

'You'd best speak plain,' Haggard suggested. 'What of the blow in her head?' Roger demanded. 'Well, sir . . .'

'Oh, sit you down, man, and take a glass. There's port in that decanter. And you can pour me one as well, Roger.'

He waited while the glasses were filled, sipped, sighed. The best part of the day. Ruined.

'Well?'

'Well, sir, Miss Alice undoubtedly took a blow on the head. A severe blow.' 'How severe?'

'It is impossible to say, sir. I examined her skull, as you saw, sir, but apart from the fact that it seemed agony for her to be touched, it is very difficult to say . . . the skull is a very-hard thing, Mr. Haggard. The misfortune is that the brain inside is a very securely anchored, one might say. It is as if, well, sir . . .' He shook
his glass, suddenly and violentl
y. Port shot out of the top and landed on his sleeve. 'You'll observe sir, that my glass is unchanged. But the liquid inside . . .'

'But
...
my God,' Roger said. 'You mean
that
is what the brain does when the head receives a blow?'

To a greater or lesser extent, Captain Haggard, according to the force of the blow. Now, none of us knows quite how hard Miss Alice struck her head. She is certainly concussed. If that were all there would be no problem. But . . .'

‘I
f that were all?' Haggard shouted.

'Well, sir, you'll have observed that she appears to be existing in some sort of nightmare. She does not wish to be touched, and she gazes at everyone with absolute horror on her face. If only we could decide what is going on in her mind . . .'

'She keeps asking for Johnnie,' Roger said.

‘I
ndeed, sir, it might well be useful to send for Mr. Haggard.'

'Hum,' Haggard said. 'Hum. What can you do for her, Harrowby?'

'Well, sir . . .' Hanowby flushed, drained his glass, gazed
into it, hopefully. Roger hastil
y poured. 'Yes?'

'Rest, of course. There is the physical matter of her legs. And constant attendance, that is essential. For the rest, we must be patient, and hope, and pray. There are, of course, hospitals intended for the treatment of cases such as this . . .'

'Bedlam?' Roger shouted.

‘I’l
l not have it,' Haggard snapped. 'My daughter in a lunatic asylum? I'll not have it.'

Harrowby sighed. The place I had in mind is certainly not a bedlam, Mr. Haggard. It is a private sanatorium where she would be treated royally. I do promise you that. But I agree these are early days. That would be a last resort, if her nightmare does not end. We must hope that it will, and shortly.' He stood up.

'But you do not suppose it will,' Roger said. 'Or you'd not have proposed your . . . sanatorium.'

'No, sir. I believe the
young lady wil
l recover. It is just that, well . . .'

'Out with it, man,' Haggard said.

'Well, sir, Mr. Haggard, her nightmare is not a nightmare to her, if you follow me. It is very real. Now, sir, it may have been induced by a blow, which has crushed something or dislodged something or just hurt something, but as the state is there, it is the state we must consider. And . . . well, sir . . . you'll have observed as well as I that the state appears to consist of a morbid mistrust, one might almost say hatred, of everything around her. Everyone around her.' He raised his hand. 'Of course this is a delusion, sir. But it is real to
her.
I
only wondered if perhaps, removed to surroundings where all the faces will be unfamiliar, she might not recover the more quickly.' His colour faded as he came under the full force of Haggard's stare, it was only a suggestion, Mr. Haggard. We must discuss it at some other time. Who knows, sir, by this time tomorrow morning the crisis may be over. Miss Alice may awaken her own true self. It will happen that way, when it happens. I'll bid you gentlemen good day.'

Roger went with him into the hall. 'But you'll come back?'

The day after tomorrow, Mr. Haggard, I shall be back. Good day to you.'

The study door closed, and Roger leaned against it.
‘I
had hoped my homecoming would bring you nothing but joy. Instead I seem to have brought you nothing but catastrophe.'

'Stuff and nonsense, boy. You did not cause the fall. Pour me another glass.'

Roger obeyed, took one himself. 'What are you going to do?' 'What can I do? Rest, that quack said. Rest.' 'You'll send for Johnnie?' 'I doubt it'll do much good.'

'On the contrary, Father. Not only will it relieve her mind, but it may provide an answer to what is in it." Haggard frowned. 'Explain.'

'Well, sir, I've seen quite a few men hit on the head during my service. In some cases it has appeared to mean nothing, in others it has had a terrible effect, rather like what has happened to Alice. Those fellows have become demented, or reacted in various strange ways. But they have never
invented
their nightmares. They have invariably reached into their own pasts for some horrible memory, and allowed it to dominate them.'

'Charlantanry,' Haggard grumbled.

'Not really. It is more like logic'

'And you think Alice may be obsessed by something in her past? Ha. I can tell you what has come out of her mind. Her hatred for me. She has always hated me. Well
...
I threw Emma out. I was wrong. I admit it freely. I even tried to make amends a couple of years ago. You know Emma lives in Plowding?'

Roger nodded.

'Aye. Well, I went over there to see her. Invited her back. Humbled myself, by God. And she asked me to leave. Oh, Alice hates me alright. I'm only sorry she seems to have extended her hate to you as well.'

'We talked about it,' Roger admitted. 'About you. Perhaps I didn't make sufficient effort to understand. But why does she keep calling for Johnnie?'

'Oh, he's her friend, she supposes. I'm beginning to wonder if Harrowby may not be right, after all.'

'You'd not send Alice to a bedlam. Even a private one.'

'Of course I shall not. But it's a gloomy prospect for her. As Harrowby says, we must be patient, and wait.'

Roger nodded. 'What of that?'

‘I
t is a bag of coin. Found lying by her. Good to know one's gamekeepers are honest men, eh?'

'She would have been on her way to Plowding.' 'Oh, aye. I told you, she supports them.' 'I would like to take it.' Haggard leaned back, 'Eh?'

‘I
t is Alice's money, Father. She has a right to do with it what she pleases. And besides, she is also Emma's daughter. I should like to go over there and tell Emma what has happened.' He smiled. 'Who knows, I may bring her back with me.'

'You'll not do that,' Haggard said.

'But if Alice is truly ill . .
’

‘I
won't have Emma Bold in this house,' Haggard said. That's her name, Roger. Emma Bold. She's turned her back on us. You'll not forget that.'

Roger picked up the bag. 'But you've no objection to my visiting them?'

Haggard sighed. 'Do what you will, boy.' Roge
r opened the door, hesitated, ‘I’l
l get over there now. And Father, you
will
send for Johnnie?

Send for Johnnie. Haggard finished his port, slowly pushed himself up. Send for Johnnie. Because some nightmare out of her past had arisen to dominate Alice's brain. A nightmare with which Johnnie was connected.

He climbed the stairs, slowly, opened the bedroom door. One of the maids had been sitting there; now she hastily got to her feet.

'Has she spoken?'

⁴
No, sir, Mr. Haggard.'

He stood by the bed, looked down on the girl. Harrowby had given her laudanum, had prescribed it whenever she started to shout. There was a blessing.