Haggard (55 page)

Roger's head came up. 'Will you forbid me?'

"I'll forbid you nothing. I told you that, boy. You'll do what you choose.'

Thank you. Father.' Roger stood beside him to look down at his sister.

But you'll remember she's a witch, Haggard thought. Oh, aye, a witch who has affected my entire life, has haunted my children, and now sits on the borders of my property, waiting for me to die, waiting for the opportunity to take my eldest son. His lips twisted. It was Emma he should have destroyed. Not her daughter.

Roger
Haggard
dismounted, tethered his horse to the ring. The ring, no less than the journey from Derleth, had become so familiar in the last two days that he might have been doing it all of his life. He might indeed. But looking over his shoulder was a waste of time. He had realised that long ago, while still in the Army. He was here now, and there was a lot of living left to do.

If it were possible to make the girl feel the same way. Truth to tell, he was unsure of his own feelings. He could not understa
nd her, the way she sat so quietl
y, or even left the room when he was present. The way she would not meet his eye. The way she avoided physical contact, even with her father and brother, only reluctantly accepted it with her mother. And never with Roger Haggard. He was nearly twice her age. There was a problem, one which perhaps meant too much to her. Or perhaps she was too steeped in the hatred felt by the Bolds for John Haggard. There was something else he could hardly understand. Because
they
seemed happy enough to see him. Because of course he had fought with them, against his father's own people, all those years ago. They counted him an ally. Was he an ally?

The door was opened, and Emma stood there. ' 'Tis madness you're at Roger Haggard,' she said. 'After all these years, deliberately to set your father at defiance. You'll never pretend he approves of these visits?'

'Are you not interested in Alice's health?'

A quick frown. 'She'll be well?'

Roger smiled, kissed her on the forehead. 'Improving every day. She'll be walking by tomorrow, and is impatient to do so, I promise you. She'll be over here by the end of next week.'

Emma led him inside. 'And then you'll be no longer coming.'

Try to keep me away.' He looked around the neat little kitchen, inhaled the aroma of the stewing rabbit. 'Harry not at home?'

She gave him an old-fashioned look. 'No. And neither is Tim. You did not know that?' He flushed, and she laughed. 'You'd never make a liar, Roger Haggard. Tis not a family characteristic'

‘I
wanted to see you.'

'And now you do. There's no cider. Will water do?' 'Water will be splendid.' Roger sat in one of the chairs beside the table. 'And Meg?'

'Saw you coming and went out the back.' 'She does not like me.'

Emma handed him the wooden mug, her face serious as ever when she discussed her daughter.

‘I
am sure she likes you very well.'

'But she cannot stand my company.'

'She finds most company hard to stand, Roger.'

'Is she crippled? Halfwitted? Is there some blemish on her skin? I confess I do not understand the matter at all.'

She gazed at him for several seconds. 'There is no reason for you to understand,' she said at last. 'You went away, lived your own life, for twenty years. I have no doubt that during those years you experienced many things you would rather forget.'

'And I have forgotten them, at least in so far as my daily life is concerned.'

'Meg is not yet twenty. You must give her the time.' He frowned at her. 'But you'll not give me the courtesy of an explanation.'

‘I
t is not your concern.'

He leaned forward, elbows on the table. 'I suspect it is, Emma. I think you are lying to me. I think the Haggards are indeed connected with Meg's experience.'

She would not lower her gaze. 'You may believe what you will, Roger. And if you intend to badger me, I should prefer if you'd not call again.'

He threw himself back in his chair. 'Have I your permission to go out the back and speak with her?'

'You have not. What are you pretending, to come acourting?'

He felt his cheeks bum. 'Would that be so impossible for you to understand?'

it would be impossible for me to believe. What, Roger Haggard, heir to probably the greatest fortune in England, soldier, man of the world, suddenly seeking to court a peasant girl he has known less than a week? You must take me for a fool. As I mistook you for the boy I knew and loved. I had not suspected a man could change so.'

Was she really angry? She certainly looked it. He could hardly remember Emma, angry. She had not been an angry person:

He nodded. 'You are right. I have moved too fast. I apologise.'

'There is nothing for you to apologise to me for. Just remember that Meg is my daughter.'

Roger shrugged. 'Perhaps that is a part of it, Emma. I always loved you, I wish to love her as well.'

Then do so, with my blessing. As a sister.'

'And if that is not possible?'

'Then do not visit us again. Meg is not for you, Roger. She is not for any man. She wishes to be left alone. If you are truly a gentleman you will respect that decision.'

Once again she would not look away.

'Does Alice know the truth of this matter?'

'What matter?'

'Be sure I shall ask her.'

'You may do whatever you wish. And Alice will no doubt do whatever she wishes.'

He gazed at her in impotent irritation, then got up.
‘I
apologise again, for taking up your time.'

Emma caught his hand. 'Roger. Of all the people in the world, I'd want you as my friend. Don't quarrel with me. Believe me, Meg has very good reasons for wishing to be left alone. Please believe me.'

'And you'll not tell me then? I may be able to help.' 'You can do nothing for her, Roger.' 'But you've no objection if I ask Alice?'

Again her face settled into that rigid composure. 'You may do whatever you wish,' she said again.

He mounted, walked his horse away from the cottage, drew rein as he saw the girl. She was standing by the trees, and as she saw him, she raised her arm, then lowered it again and stepped into shelter. Roger's heart pounded, as he looked over his shoulder. He could not tell if Emma was watching him or not, but he doubted it. Hastily he turned his horse, walked it into the shelter of the trees, dismounted. Meg remained several feet away from him, face flushed and hair untidy. She was having trouble with her breathing.

'Is Alice really going to be all right?' The words came out in a rush.

'We think so.'

'Did she really sprain her ankle. Captain?'

That's what the doctor says.'

'You don't think she was assaulted?'

Roger frowned at her. 'Assaulted? Alice?'

Meg was chewing her lip.
‘I
was assaulted, Captain.' Once again the words seemed to tumble over each other; she was saying something she had kept bottled up for too long.

'You?' He stepped closer, and she stepped back.

'Here,' she gasped. 'In this wood. I was assaulted. By five men.'

'My God,' Roger said. 'But . . .'

'Johnnie was with me, Captain. And he
...
he ran away. Papa said he'd kill him if he ever came here again. He ran away. You'd not run away. Captain?'

'No,' Roger said absently. 'I'd not run away. Who knows of this, Meg?'

'Well . . .' she flushed. 'Nobody. Save Alice. And the men.'

'Were they never caught?'

'No, Mr. Haggard.'

'But you made charges.'

'Me, Mr. Haggard? They wore masks.'

'My God,' he said again, and again approached her. This time she did not withdraw, leaned against a tree instead, watched him come closer. 'But Johnnie . . .'

'He never came back, Captain. Never sent a message. He'd asked me to marry him, Captain. But he never came back.'

'Oh, Meg,' Roger said. 'Oh, my poor, poor Meg.'

She did not seem to hear him. They said I was demented. Captain. Mama and Papa said that. But I'm not demented now. And I thought, maybe Alice had been assaulted. She might have sprained her ankle, fighting them. I sprained my wrist fighting them. Captain.'

Roger shook his head. 'No. You've naught to worry about there. She was found by Father's gamekeepers, almost the moment she fell from her horse.'

'I'm so glad, Captain. So glad. I was so afraid, that it might have happened to her, too.'

'Aye. But it didn't. It happened to you. And I am so glad you told me, Meg. Meg . . .'He reached out and took her hand.

‘I
'd best be getting back,' she said,
‘I
don't like the woods. They frighten me, Captain.' But she hesitated. 'Will you come again, Captain?'

'Would you like me to?'

‘I
'd like you to come again, Captain. But not to the house. Here in the wood.'

'I'll be here tomorrow after dinner. I'll look for you, Meg. Will you come?'

'You look for me, Captain.'

Now why had he said that? Did he want to see her again? A tinker's daughter, who had been
raped, and by five men? A very
lovely tinker's daughter, who had been raped by five men. And was therefore an easy lay? She hardly gave that impression. And if he was looking for an easy lay, were there not many girls in his own village who would willingly raise their skirts for the Haggard heir? And who were not almost related to him.

Because she was, almost related to him. And she had been raped, by five men. While his own half-brother stood by and watched, and ran away. John Haggard junior. Did Father know of it? Father could not possibly know of it. He would never have Johnnie in the house again. If he spoke of the boy with affectionate contempt, it was because of his ambitions to be a poet. A boy who had watched a girl who had placed her trust in him being raped, by five men. Roger kicked his horse from a trot into a canter. He supposed he had never hated anyone so much in his life. Someone he had never seen.

And someone who was responsible for even more than that. For undoubtedly there was the truth about Alice. She would certainly know what had happened. If Johnnie had not confessed it, then the Bolds would have told her. She knew all about what had happened to her stepsister, and all about the cowardice of her half-brother. It must have been lying across her mind like a lead weight for all of these two years, slowly eating into her sanity, mixing and confounding itself with her hatred of her father, until, as Harrowby had suggested, the blow on her head had caused her brain to snap. All caused by Johnnie Haggard.

He rode through the cut, down the drive to the Hall. The carriage was already at the door, and the inmates were still disembarking. The
inmates?
Roger frowned as he watched the tall, slight young man embracing his father. That had to be Johnnie. Then who was the other, now shaking hands? A shorter man, more heavily set although not a great deal older, with reddish brown hair and a limp, and striking features, at once handsome and vaguely repellent because of their expression of bored arrogance.

'Roger,' Haggard said. 'Back in good time, boy. This is Johnnie. Now isn't it a strange thing, my lord, to be introducing a man to his own brother?'

'Quaint,' Byron agreed.

Roger dismounted, shook hands. He'd not betray the boy before Father. Not yet. But the fingers were limp, and as his gaze ate into the pale blue eyes Johnnie flushed.

'I've been looking forward to this moment,' he murmured. 'For two years.'

'As have I,' Roger said, and turned to Byron.

'And Lord Byron,' Haggard said. 'Johnnie's best friend.'

'My pleasure, Captain,' Byron said.

'And mine, sir. Byron. I know the name.'

'You do, by God,' Byron remarked.

'Lord Byron is the toast of England,' Johnnie said. 'You'll have read
Childe Harold?’
‘I
'm afraid not.'

'A fantasy I scribbled while upon my travels,' Byron explained, looking a trifle embarrassed by Johnnie's obvious adulation. 'But what do you suppose? The public has taken me up.'